


Queen of Darkness

by artemis_fay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Awesome Morgana (Merlin), Character Study, Evil Morgana (Merlin), F/M, Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), Minor Merlin/Morgana (Merlin), POV Morgana (Merlin), Redeemed Morgana (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis_fay/pseuds/artemis_fay
Summary: Why did Morgana turn to darkness? What if she fell in love first? The path to evil is more twisted and complex than you might think. This is the story of Morgana's journey, and who she loved and lost along the way.(Starting in 1 x 07, in a slightly alternate version of the story, mergana)
Relationships: Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 54





	1. Once and Future Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for checking out this story! 
> 
> Just a few things to keep in mind:
> 
> \- This is an alternate version of the show. Some alterations are small, some are large, however, most overarching plot lines will remain the same. 
> 
> \- There is a merlin/morgana romance, but it is not and never will be the central focus. I want to write about Morgana's journey and further explore her as a character, so her relationship with Merlin is important in how it shapes her life. That being said, nothing major is going to happen between them right away— I want to work my way up to romance in the way I wished the show did. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading, and feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments ;)

_I’m walking through the same hall I’ve known since I was a little girl, but it’s starker and more shadowed. The massive throne in the center seems to command most of the room. I can’t take my eyes off it. Everything is cold — my hands, the floor, the air— and the coldness seeps into me until I can’t remember feeling anything else. When I’m close enough I reach out to touch the gilded metal. It burns._

I jerk awake, covered in sweat, struggling not to cry. Something about being in that hall is deeply wrong, something about the way I feel when I reach for the throne. Like there’s a tug inside me, so powerful that I can’t resist. Moonlight floods the recesses of my room, silver and bright, and I try to focus on it as I tremble and hold my knees to my chest. There’s something wrong with me, there has to be, because I can’t shake these nightmares, no matter how hard I try. I murmur to myself as I wait for the reassuring footsteps of Guinevere.

When she rushes in she sits on the side of my bed and I take hold of her wrists, still trembling, and cling to her in the darkness.

“I’m here,” she whispers, “I’m here and everything will be okay.”

I try to speak, to say something, anything, but I’m afraid that words would only make the tears creeping down my face faster and thicker. I hate that I’m crying. I love Gwen, but somewhere deep down I’m scared of how much I need her, resentful of the fact that if she weren’t here I wouldn’t be sane. It shouldn’t be that way. I should be strong enough to survive on my own.

“I’m okay,” I say after several deep breaths. “You can go.” Her brown eyes are filled with concern and I’m sure that somewhere in them I can detect pity, no matter how much she tries to disguise it. “Thank you,” I whisper, even though I know that those two words can never communicate how much I owe her. She smiles and gets up to leave as I sink back down into my sheets and try to sleep.

***

The next morning I stand in front of the mirror and gingerly touch the purple half moons under my eyes, trying to figure out what jewelry will make me look like I’m in control, like everything is fine. I settle on an emerald colored dress and leave my dark hair loose around my shoulders. I hate twisting it up, even if it makes me look more regal.

Before I leave my chambers I remind myself to stand as straight as I possibly can, to keep my chin up, even though my limbs ache from exhaustion and a headache is already coming on. I can do this. I can stay in control if I focus hard enough, make them see me how I want them to. As someone to be respected, someone they can look up to.

I try to ignore the frigid glances Uther gives me as I walk into the same hall from my dream and take my place on the chair beside him. Something about his gaze is frightening, like he knows there’s something really wrong with me. I’ve tried to avoid this room since the nightmares have started, but on some occasions it’s impossible.

Today we’re welcoming guests from another kingdom. I watch them as they enter— I’ve always been curious about what it would be like to live outside of Camelot. This place is all I’ve ever known, and while I have to be grateful, there are times when I wonder what it would be like to live somewhere else, somewhere where the rules are different.

My eyes settle on the girl first. She’s beautiful in a subtle way, not so much her face, but the way she walks, how she holds herself. Watching her look proudly up at us reminds me to focus on the straightness of my spine and the tilt of my chin. Suddenly, I wish I had done something better with my hair, or at least put on a nicer gown. When her eyes meet mine I feel slightly ashamed, but then something seems to flash across her face for an instant and I forget that I’m supposed to be in control. Is it recognition?

Uther starts to give the usual speech, but my gaze is still trained on the girl as an uncomfortable feeling starts to rise through me. When he finishes and has them escorted to their corridors everyone starts to leave, and I catch sight of Merlin trailing behind Arthur. I know it isn’t appropriate, but something about the way the manservant is whispering to his master makes me think that he knows something. I catch up to him and grab his arm. He turns around in surprise and looks at me.

“Who are they?” I say it quickly, before he can ask me what I’m doing, barely stopping myself from saying what I really want to know— who is she?

Merlin looks surprised. I bite my tongue to keep myself from apologizing and blushing. He’s a servant, after all, and I have a right to address him how I choose.

“Arthur saved her, I guess.” He looks unsurely around him, like he wants to say something more. Once I might have been suspicious, but Merlin often has that look. He didn’t really answer my question, but judging by the way he’s looking at me I don’t think I’m going to get any more information. I expect him to walk away, but then I realize that he’s waiting for me to dismiss him.

“Okay.” I murmur. I watch him as he rushes to catch up with Arthur.

***  
_I’m underwater. Greenish light filters through the filmy surface and gives everything a midlewy glow. There’s a blurred figure suspended in the water a little ways away, and I swim closer to see who it is. Shocked, I realize it’s Arthur. I look around, frantic, trying to grab him but unable to make my arms work. When my eyes drift upward I see a girl, her hand held flat over the surface—_

I awake with a start. The girl was the one that arrived yesterday; I think Uther said her name was Sophia. I have to warn Arthur. It’s early and I’m disoriented— Sophia’s face swims across my vision every time I close my eyes— so it takes me a moment to realize that I didn’t wake up shaking and crying. Scared, yes, but also in control. A hint of a smile creeps onto my face before I start focusing again. I need to find him.

I’m tempted to go in my nightgown because this could be urgent, she could kidnap him at any moment, but I have a feeling that I’ll be taken more seriously if I’m fully dressed. Instead of calling for Gwen, who barely gets to sleep through the night because of me, I select and put on a rich blue dress on my own, along with gleaming earrings and a simple necklace whose pendant nestles itself against my ribcage. I stop at the mirror on my way out and smile.

I find Arthur sleeping peacefully in his chambers. Mouth slightly open, he looks less arrogant, less guarded, than usual. The prince and I were close at one point, when we were children. I remember sword fighting with him almost every day, insulting each other in between clashes of our wooden swords. Of course that’s all over now. He’s the prince, destined for the throne, and has duties to fulfill, and no one expects much of me. At some point Uther encouraged me to shift my attention towards other, more practical tasks. Sometimes though, if the armory is empty, I practice the stances and moves. Just in case.

“Arthur.” I say as gently as possible. His eyes flutter open and widen in surprise when they land on me.

“What are you doing here?” He sits up quickly and runs his fingers through his hair. I hesitate. It seems dangerous to confess my dream— what if he thinks it’s magic? But I know I have to try to warn him.

“You’re in danger.” I say at last.

“In danger?” The expression on his face shifts from surprised to skeptical. “Is this about a nightmare?”

“Yes, but — “ I begin, but he cuts me off.

“You need to realize that they’re just dreams. They’re not real.” He rubs his eyes. “I can’t believe you woke me up for this.” Anger flashes through me.

“You’re not even going to listen to what I have to say?” He’s already back in bed, face turned away from me. For an instant I imagine leaving now; it’s his fault for not taking me seriously. But then I feel disgusted at myself. He’s a prat, but I’ve known him my entire life. He’s like family. I shake him violently and start speaking again, explaining my dream, how it feels too real, how I was there, I saw it happen.

“Go back to bed, Morgana.” he murmurs sleepily. I suck in a breath and clench my teeth. He shouldn’t be so dismissive, I know just as much as he does. After shaking him more but to no avail, I decide that it’s a lost cause. Some part of me is hopeful that he’s right, that maybe it is just a dream.

“I hope I’m wrong.” Defeatedly, I drag myself out the door and through the silent, sleeping hallways of the castle back to my chambers.

As I turn the corridor I find myself face to face with Sophia. She smiles almost dreamily. Her eyes are clear blue, and her hair is wispy and faded. She seems to float, rather than stand, on the stone ground.

“Hello.” she murmurs. “The Lady Morgana, isn’t it?” I nod, and to my shock she falls to her knees in a deep and dramatic bow. I think she’s mocking me until I catch sight of her eyes, lowered and almost fearful. I seize my opportunity.

“Listen,” I begin, standing as tall as I can manage. “I know you’re up to something. I’m warning you, if anything happens to Arthur, anything at all, I will find you.” I hope that she can’t tell that I’m not really sure what I would do once I did find her. As I speak she starts to stand up again, any trace of her previous expression gone. She smiles innocently again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she responds, and starts to glide past me. I step in front of her, blocking her path.

“I mean it.” I say in a tone I hope is menacing. She leans closer to me, and I want to recoil from her but something keeps me rooted to the ground. She puts her mouth by my ear, and starts to speak, her voice soft and smooth.

“I bowed to you,” she whispers, “As my once and future queen.” I pull away, surprised.

“I’m not—” but she puts her finger to her lips and I fall silent. I watch her until she disappears around the corner and remain, stranded, in the middle of the corridor. What did she mean? I’ll never be queen. I stand in the same place for several minutes until part of me thinks that I’d better shove her words into the recesses of my mind so I couldn’t dwell on them for too long. They could be dangerous.


	2. Mordred

When Merlin comes bursting in with a little boy in tow my first reaction is surprise. Merlin has always behaved unusually for a servant, but entering my chambers without knocking is audacious even for him. But then my eyes land on the boy, and I know even before Merlin starts to explain that something is terribly wrong.

“They’re going to kill him,” he says desperately. “He’s a druid.”

I nod, understanding immediately, and usher him to the corner of my room. His eyes are panicked and his skin is hot to the touch. Too hot.

“He’s sick.”

Merlin doesn’t respond, instead, he starts pacing back and forth. The sound of guards trampling and shouting resonates through the silence. The boy starts to shake, and instinctively I put my arms around him.

Someone bangs on the door and he starts shaking harder. Putting a finger to my lips and shoving Merlin into the corner, I get up to answer it. The guard on the other side looks somewhat sheepish when he sees me.

“I’m sorry to disturb you Lady Morgana, but I’m afraid that a druid boy has escaped into the castle. Have you seen him?” I shake my head, hoping that I look more confident than I feel. The guard nods. “Let us know if you do.”

I shut the door so quickly I’m afraid he’ll come back and insist on searching, but he doesn’t. I find Merlin crouching near the boy with a confused expression on his face.

“What are we going to do?” I ask. He seems to be concentrating very hard and doesn’t even look up at me.

“Merlin!”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “We need to get him back to his people.” Our eyes meet, and I feel a moment of connection to the servant that I never realized cared so much about others. “I’ll have to smuggle him out of the castle—”

“No,” I interject. “I’ll do it.”

“Morgana,” he says, “You’re the king’s ward. You can’t—”

“Exactly. If I get caught he won’t kill me.” I hope it’s true. I try to make myself look braver than I feel, like I can do this, I can save someone’s life.

“Morgana—” He begins again, and I can’t help but notice how he says my name.

“I’m going to do it,” I say firmly. My words seem to stop his protestations. A wave of assurance washes over me; I’m doing something right. I know I am. Merlin tells me that there’s a hidden passageway under the castle that leads just outside of the gates. We plan to get him out tonight, after Merlin can get the keys from Arthur. I have no idea how he’s going to do it, but something in his expression tells me he can and makes my doubts fall away.

After Merlin leaves, I walk over to the boy and stroke his forehead. Maybe if we’re alone he’ll talk to me. There’s something about him that I can’t quite make out, a sense of mystery and maybe even unease, the same way I felt when Sophia was here. She may have left without doing anything, but I can’t help but be sure that there was more to her than met the eye. The way she bowed to me— but he’s just a boy.

“Morgana.” His wild eyes look up at me.

“What, what is it?” I murmur. “You’re okay, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He grasps my forearm and for a moment I forget where I am.

“Help me,” he says again, and cold floods through me as I realize that he isn’t moving his mouth. “I’m scared.”

I hesitate. He’s using magic. Before I can stop myself I imagine turning him over to the guards, saying that I found him— his head on the chopping block, the sound of the silver ax slicing through the air. I shudder. I have to help save this boy who’s done nothing wrong.

There are shouts outside and the boy seems to freeze up. I look out the window and to my horror see a man outside, about to be executed.

“My father,” the boy almost moans it, and the sound of his voice in my mind makes fury, hot and uncomfortable, settle into the pit of my stomach. I picture Uther commanding this man and so many others like him to death. Is magic really that evil? I rush to the boy’s side and squeeze his hand as the ax falls.

***  
I explain the situation to Gwen as best I can while trying to ignore the fact that I’m putting her in danger too. She takes it all in without speaking and only nods when I finish talking.

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” I say hurriedly. “I just wanted you to know.”

She takes a look at him and I see a familiar look in her eyes. It’s the same look she fixes on me after I’ve awoken from a nightmare.

“Of course,” she replies. “My lady, if I can be of any assistance—”

I shake my head and she nods again. At sundown, I dismiss her and wait for Merlin. The less she knows, the better. When he comes he hands me the keys and I tell him to leave too; if he was caught it would mean certain death. If I killed him— I struggle to keep that thought at bay.

“I’m coming with you.” I shake my head in horror, he can’t risk this, I would never forgive myself if he died.

“Merlin we agreed—”

“I don’t care, I can’t sit around and do nothing!” I bite my lip as I realize that nothing is what I’ve been doing for the past twenty years. What choice did I have?

“Look,” he starts again, “The more we argue, the more likely we are to get caught.” He has a point. And as terrified as I am, having him with me wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“If you’re killed,” I mutter, “I’m going to be very angry with you.” A hint of a smile creeps across his face despite our current situation, and I can’t help but feel a little better. Any reassurance, however, disappears when the druid boy starts to cry softly. This time it’s Merlin who goes to his side and comforts him. I watch him, once again in awe. I’ve only ever known Merlin as Arthur’s servant, which means I’ve always associated him with coldness and pride. I suppose I was wrong.

“We have to move him now.” Merlin says, “Before he gets worse.”

“Are you sure it’s safe—”

“His people can heal him.” Merlin cuts me off again. I feel a flicker of annoyance; he really needs to stop interrupting me. Considering that now really isn’t the time to be reminding Merlin of his position, I let him get away with it. He pulls the boy to his feet and tells him to lean on him.

The castle feels empty and eerily quiet. I’ve known these corridors for many, many years now, but rarely dared to walk through them at night. There’s something disquieting about the way the torches cast long, gray shadows against the stone, the absence of the usual bustle that moves with the energy of a river. Fear bubbles up, sour and painful.

Merlin also seems a little uncomfortable, and I’m grateful for his fidgeting and way of quickly glancing behind him— they remind me that I’m not alone, that I’m not the only one who's scared. Every once and a while he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

It doesn’t take us long to reach the hidden passageway. I have to stop myself from asking how he knows about it; I probably don’t want to know, and it doesn’t really matter at this point. It takes us much longer to actually get through it, as there are so many twists and seemingly pointless curves that I can’t visualize exactly where we are.

“I’m glad you know this place so well,” I say under my breath, hoping for an explanation. I only get a knowing and playfully secretive smile.

“Hopefully this is the tunnel that leads outside of Camelot,” he replies at last, “and not the one that leads to the crypt.” It takes me a second to realize he’s joking. I would laugh if it weren’t for the quiet and uneven footsteps of the druid boy that serve as a constant reminder of what’s at stake.

Everything is fine until we leave the passageway. After walking through the clear, crisp outdoor air for a bit there is a flurry of footsteps in the distance and my heart starts racing. This can’t be happening. We’re so close. I turn around and see a flash of silver metal from the guards’ helmets.

“Morgana, stay here,” Merlin says, grasping my shoulders as I start to tremble.

“What?” I struggle to keep myself from screaming. “We’re about to get caught.”

“I’ll take him. I know where to go.”

“Merlin—”

“Listen, they don’t know for sure how many of us there are. “

“Don’t be ridiculous, they obviously saw the boy—”

“Just distract them.” Merlin grabs the druid boy and starts tearing into the forest as fast as he can manage, leaving me alone and in desperate need of a lie to tell the guards. If they saw the boy I can only hope that they didn’t see Merlin, or at least that they couldn’t make out who he was. But how is he going to get back into the castle? And how does he know where to go?

A takes a couple of minutes for the guards to reach me.

“Are you alright?” one asks.

“Yes,” I begin, trying my best to look confused and not nervous. “I came out for some fresh air. Is there anything wrong?”

The guards squint into the distance. “Are you alone?”

“Of course,” I reply, maybe a little too quickly. My heart starts beating faster.

“There were figures.” a hint of suspicion arises in the eyes of the guards questioning me. I can see him calculating, considering his options. I’m the king’s ward— is it worth angering me for the chance that he might catch a supposed criminal? Ignoring the way my arms and legs have started to freeze up with fear, I focus on forcing my lips into a grimace, making my eyes look cold.

“I would appreciate you letting me get back to the castle. It’s cold, and I obviously haven’t seen anyone.” The guard sags a little, realizing the hopelessness of his predicament.

“Of course my lady, I apologize for disturbing you.” I freeze the cruel and regal expression on my face until he’s well out of sight, then head back to my chambers, praying with all my heart that Merlin and the druid boy are okay.

***

_I’m in the hall again, reaching for the throne. I’m about to touch it, my fingers aching with longing for the feel of the metal, for the knowledge that it's mine, when something stops me. A voice echoes through my head, filling me with a sense of dread that chills me to the bone._

_“Morgana.”_

_I realize with a shudder that it’s the voice of the druid boy. I whirl around but can’t see him; I’m alone in the shadowed hall. Completely alone._

_“Morgana,” he says again, and I sink to my knees. “Don’t be scared.” But how can I be anything else? Whenever I try to speak no sound comes out. I’m trapped._

_“I won’t forget what you did for me.” His voice is softer now, as if he can sense my fear. “I look forward to your reign.”_

A knocking on the door wakes me up. I can barely remember falling asleep, let alone dragging myself back to my chambers. Before the sound can awake Gwen I leap out of bed, throw a shawl around my bare shoulders, and go to answer it.

“Merlin?” I say, partly surprised, but mostly relieved. “What happened? Is the boy okay? Did you find the druids?”

“Everything is fine, I found them and they took him in. They said he’ll be okay.”

I fall silent, considering asking him how on earth he managed it. I decide not to.

“I just wanted to let you know.” He says, eyes falling to the floor. “I knew you were really worried about him.”

I should say something, but I can’t think of anything to say, so I just nod. Merlin turns around and starts to walk down the hall, and I’m struck with a desperate sense that I’m losing something.

“Merlin!” I call out, maybe a little too loudly. He turns back around, watching me expectantly. “Thank you.” I say it so quietly I’m not sure he heard me. I wish I could have said something better, something that more accurately conveyed everything I felt. But those were the only words I could find that didn’t feel wrong. He smiles, and I gently close the door.


	3. Journey to Ealdor

As the weeks pass I wait for Merlin to acknowledge what happened, but he doesn’t. He stops looking at me when we pass each other in the halls, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, never straying too far from Arthur. How can he do this? I don’t even know what I want to say to him, but I know I have to say something. The silence is too much.

The nightmares, which had subsided slightly, return with a vengeance. I live in them almost every night, sometimes wandering through the hall with the throne, others experiencing new, similarly haunting events. Try as I might, I can’t shake what Mordred said. I look forward to your reign. I can’t help but be reminded of Sophia’s bow, how she called me the once and future queen. None of it makes sense.

  
I go to Gaius for help and hope to find Merlin, but he isn’t there. The sleeping draught Gauis gives me doesn’t help— I sink into a deep sleep right away but still awake in the middle of the night. I find myself struggling to stay awake as long as possible; I would rather be exhausted than stay an extra second in my dreams. I desperately want to talk to someone, but I don’t know who. Gwen has enough to worry about, Gaius doesn’t do more than give me the draught and tell me to stop worrying, and Arthur and Uther would never understand. The one person who I really want to speak to, Merlin, is ignoring me.

  
The day Merlin’s mother comes to Camelot is cloudy. When she kneels in front of the king and begs him for help I don’t focus on her, even though I’m filled with pity, instead, I watch Merlin. He fidgets, his gaze every bit as pleading as his mother’s. No one notices. I know it’s a lost cause before she finishes speaking—I’ve lived with Uther long enough to recognize how his mind works, and he would never spend the resources of his kingdom helping the people of another.

  
I wait for everyone to clear out, then do what I feel I need to, even though I know it’s useless. I confront the king.

  
“People are dying,” I begin, but he doesn’t even let me finish my sentence.

  
“I cannot deal with you right now.” His voice is cold, his eyes are focused out the window as he leaves the throne and approaches. Anger courses through me. Outside it starts to rain, the droplets splashing against the courtyard.

  
“Do you not care? Do their lives mean nothing to you?” He finally turns to face me, and I see fury, not unlike mine, animating his face.

  
“Merlin has been a faithful servant to Arthur—” I press, but then I see confusion flash across his gaze and stop talking, trying to keep myself from blushing. I’d never mentioned Merlin by name before.

  
“You will never understand,” he says after a moment of silence.

  
“Never understand what?”

  
Ignoring my question, he walks past me, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. I call out after him.

  
“What can’t I understand?” My voice rises. “I understand perfectly well. Innocent people are suffering, and you couldn’t care less!” I’m shouting now, my words doing little to fill the vast space between us. He reaches the tall, wooden doors and pauses.

  
“What it means to rule a kingdom.”

  
My heart freezes mid beat and I’m left speechless with frustration. Of course he doesn’t think I understand. Of course he doesn’t think I’m smart enough, or mature enough, or capable enough to do what he can, what he raised Arthur for. He never has. After cooling down enough to regain control of my limbs, I storm off to my chambers.

  
Gwen is making my bed when I come in, and judging by her expression she can tell that something is off.

  
“My lady?” Her voice is gentle, like it always is, and hearing it calms me little. “Is everything alright?”

  
I consider telling her no and explaining everything: how I can’t deal with the nightmares alone, no one thinks I’m capable, Merlin won’t speak to me— but I can’t tell her about Merlin. I’m not even entirely sure what there is to tell, and Gwen wouldn’t understand. Instead, I think of something else.

  
“Gwen,” I begin, hoping she won’t feel that I’m pressuring her, that she has no choice in the matter. “How would you feel about going somewhere?” She looks confused. “With me,” I add.  
“I don’t understand.” I take a deep breath, hoping she doesn’t read too much into my request.

  
“Merlin’s mother,” I say carefully. “ I— I want to help her. And her village.” Realization registers on Gwen’s face. “I want to go with them. To be of any assistance I can.”

  
“I couldn’t agree more,” she says quickly, and smiles. “I would love to come with you.”

  
“You don’t have to, you know.”

  
“I know,” she says, returning to making my bed. “But I want to. I owe it to Merlin.” Something strange passes through me at hearing her say that, but it is quickly overshadowed by the fact that I won’t have to go on this journey alone. If Gwen comes with me, it will seem less out of the ordinary.

  
“Me too,” I say. “Thank you.”

  
“But my lady,” Gwen says a moment later. “Won’t the king object?” I smirk, the memory of his words in the hall still fresh in my mind.

  
“What Uther doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” A hint of a smile appears on Gwen’s face.

***  
We set out almost immediately. I creep down to the armory and grab a sword, unable to suppress a grin at how it feels in my hands, gazing at the way light reflects off its gleaming blade. It’s been a long time since I’ve held a weapon in the knowledge that I would actually have the chance to use it.

  
Merlin and his mother meet us by the gates, holding the reins of a deep brown horse. I bring mine from the stables— a white mare I’ve had since I was very young. I get on first and pull Gwen up onto the saddle after. Merlin does the same for his mother, and he catches me looking at him. I quickly look away, pretending I need to say something to Gwen. To my surprise, she’s watching me skeptically, and I feel a tingle of embarrassment as I realize that maybe she’s more observant than I’m giving her credit for.

  
We ride in silence, watching the leaves and branches rush past us. Now and then I feel a rush of excitement; it’s almost like an adventure. Uther may never respect me, but this is an opportunity to prove that I’m capable— to Merlin, and to myself. Any excitement, however, fades after several hours of nothing but the sound of the horses’ hooves pounding against the trail and animals scuttling through the woods. Still, I would rather be here than sitting in my chambers with only my thoughts keeping me company.

  
Eventually, darkness falls and we set up camp for the night. The tall, broad trees cast shadows over the leaf-covered ground and inky darkness starts to swallow the distance. I find myself drawing closer to Gwen as Merlin builds a fire. When at last he succeeds at summoning bright orange flames, he announces that he’s headed into the forest to gather more firewood. Gwen and I sit close to the small but warm fire, and Merlin’s mother, whose name I learn is Hunith, sits opposite us. The surreptitious glances she throws my way every once and a while don’t go unnoticed.

  
“Gwen,” I whisper, unsure of how to proceed, “Are you—” I trail off, feeling pathetic.

  
“Yes, my lady?” she says, her brown eyes looking at me expectantly.

  
“Are you scared at all?”

  
“Well,” she begins, “I suppose a little.” She gazes into the flames, momentarily mesmerized by the smoke and sparks. “I’ve faced worse than this,” she adds, almost under her breath, staring at her lap as if unsure whether she should have spoken.

  
“Of course you have.” I feel ashamed; I had forgotten how she had been accused of being a sorceress and was almost executed.

  
“Are you?”

  
I hesitate. “Maybe.” But who am I to lie to Gwen? We’ve known each other for so long. “Yes,” I admit. “But I feel that you need to take risks sometimes, to stand up for what’s right.” She smiles at me, her face warm in the firelight, and she hugs me gently.

  
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” I’m overcome with gratitude as I return her embrace.

***  
The last thing I expect to see when Merlin returns is Arthur at his side, leading his own horse. He and Merlin are talking quietly, and he looks amused, but his expression changes to angry when his eyes land on me. I curl my hands into fists; he has no right to be angry with me, and if he’s come to bring me back to Camelot he’ll find that his trip was in vain. I’m not leaving. Before he has the chance to approach me I quickly stand up and meet him. Merlin joins his mother, probably sensing the tension in the air.

  
“Why are you here?” I hiss. He rolls his eyes.

  
“I assume for the same reason you’re here.” I grit my teeth.

  
“And,” he adds. I let out a breath; I knew this was coming. “To warn you.”

  
“I’m not going back.”

  
“I’ve long since given up trying to influence your actions, Morgana.” He says it slowly, meeting my furious gaze with determination. “But I thought you should know that my father is not pleased.”

  
“Uther will be fine.”

  
“You’re lucky, he says again, his voice low, “that I saw you leaving. When he realized you were gone, he wanted to send every single knight of Camelot out to search.” It’s my turn to roll my eyes now— the king would never send his entire army after me. I open my mouth but before I can say anything Arthur starts speaking again.

  
“Fortunately for you, I convinced him you would be fine. I told him I would come after you, and promised to keep you safe by any means necessary.”  
“If you think you can stop me from fighting—”

  
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Arthur says, looking at me reproachfully. “But unless you would like an even more severe punishment than the one that awaits you, you should pretend that I did.”  
With that, he walks away to speak to Merlin again, leaving me dumbfounded. A prickle of anxiety rises in me at the thought of what will happen when I return to Camelot, but I push it away. It’s too late to turn back now.


	4. The Battles Rage On

We’re close to Ealdor when I realize something is wrong. Screams echo through the woods, bouncing off the trees, and footsteps scuttle in the distance. Merlin rides faster. Instinctively, I ride after him, Gwen’s arms tight around my waist. 

When we get there the battle is raging. Soldiers led by the cruel-faced man on the horse seize citizens, beating and slaughtering them, seizing supplies and upending homes. It rocks me to my core. 

My hand goes for my sword and without thinking I stop the horse, leap off, and begin to fight. It comes more naturally than I expected it to. I finish off the first man in minutes— a deft blow to the stomach freezes his face mid snarl and I let him fall to the ground as I pull my sword out of his body. I try not to look at his eyes, pale blue and small. Before I can collect myself the next one approaches. I barely have time to blurt out a quick taunt to Arthur, fighting next to me, before I have to dodge his knife. I stab him in the back and stifle a gag.

The village is muddy. Filth splatters over me as I fight, it’s scent thick and heavy, making my head spin. When at last the attackers start to flee, bellowing promises of returning with more men, my sword is covered in blood and my clothes are smeared with dirt. My dark hair, unkempt, falls out of its bun and spills onto my shoulders. For a moment I watch them ride away into the gray sky and grassy fields, trembling slightly. Arthur puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I reply, quickly shaking him off. I can’t let him think I’m weak. I whirl around and find Gwen, a few spaces away, breathing heavily and clutching a shovel I’m pretty sure was responsible for several deaths only moments earlier. 

“Where’s Merlin?” Gwen doesn’t say anything. I whirl around to face Arthur, holding back panic.

“Where’s Merlin?” I say again, my voice rising. Before I can say it for a third time, though, I spot Merlin walking towards us, talking to a young man who looks like a villager. To my relief, he seems to be unharmed. Without thinking, I rush closer. I’m about to throw my arms around him when his eyes widen in shock, and I realize that Arthur might find it strange that I’m hugging his manservant. 

“Morgana,” he says, his voice careful as his eyes meet mine, “This is Will. We grew up together.” I smile, trying to regain my composure. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” 

He nods at me coldly. Feeling a little foolish, I join Arthur as he walks towards the center of the village and tries to rally the people. 

***  
Hunith is kind enough to let us stay with her. At night I lie next to Gwen on the floor, trying desperately to arrange the blankets in a way that makes the hard surface somewhat comfortable. It doesn’t work. I toss and turn restlessly, unable to make sleep come. Finally, I roll over and look at Gwen, who lies on her back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. I think about trying to start a conversation, but decide she looks too peaceful to be disturbed— at least she’s resting. Sometime before dawn I slip into an uncomfortable sleep.

I _’m back in the field I fought in earlier. A man is on his knees in front of me, writhing in pain, and I have a horrible, sinking feeling that I’m somehow forcing him down without touching him. The grass ripples in the wind and the sky is tinted red._

_“Please,” he whispers. His voice breaks. “Please don’t do this.”_

_I crouch in front of him, grasping a dagger in my right hand. I ram it between his ribs. He sucks in a breath and lets out a low, guttural moan. I do it again. And again. And again._

When I wake up I’m sobbing and Gwen is holding my hand. Pale dawn light streams in through the tiny window of Hunith’s home. 

“You’re alright,” Gwen says soothingly, “Everything is going to be fine.” 

I pull myself to my feet and stumble to an empty corner, praying that my cries didn’t wake Merlin and Arthur. I put my hand on my stomach, nauseated, and take several deep breaths. 

“I’m okay,” I say, turning back to look at her concerned face and standing up straighter. “It was just a nightmare.” 

When Arthur wakes up he announces that he’s decided to teach the men to fight. It’s not a bad idea—their attackers will be back, and none of the villagers know how to hold a weapon, much less kill someone. The next day he lines them up in the grass, illustrating the stances and moves. It’s odd; even with the knights, I’ve never seen Arthur look so determined. I watch him with arms crossed and eyebrows raised, only pulling my gaze away when Gwen says my name.

“Morgana,” she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “What if we taught the women to fight?” It takes me a moment to register her words.

“You’re right,” I exclaim, “They need all the people they can get.” I turn back to Arthur, who is now walking along the rows of villagers, giving them advice and correcting their positions. “I’ll talk to Arthur.” Gwen nods at me, still smiling. 

***

“No.” 

Arthur and I are standing in the grass just outside Hunith’s home, the wind tousling my hair and making the grass swish around my ankles.

“What?” I respond in disbelief. “How can you say no?”

“It’s too dangerous.” He comes closer to me, his eyes meeting mine. “They’ll get hurt, and there won’t be anyone to look after the children—” 

“What do you think is going to happen to them,” I hiss, “when their husbands are all dead and the attackers have no one left to kill?” 

He takes a step back from me, surprised at the harshness of my words. I keep going.

“Do you think they’ll be happy they didn’t fight? That they stayed safe for an extra few hours before condemning themselves and their children to death?” I could cut the tension in the foot between us with a knife. He’s so close I can feel his breath, hot and heavy on my face. I want desperately to step back, to retreat, but I force myself to stay put.  
“You are not in charge,” he says at last, his words bitter and short. “You do not get to make this decision.” I feel myself go white with fury as he spins on his heel and walks away from me. 

“I could be,” I whisper, seething, not entirely sure what I mean, but still knowing it’s true. My words get lost in the wind. 

***

I tell Gwen we’re going to teach the women to fight anyway. She looks skeptical, but agrees, if somewhat reluctantly. While Arthur is busy with the men we approach the women one by one, finding that most of them are eager to join us. I can’t help but feel a swell of pride when one woman, around my age with short blonde hair, looks directly into my face and says she would be honored to learn from me. 

Dusk is approaching when Arthur notices what we’re doing. He storms over to me, eyes blazing in the light of the setting sun, fists clenched by his sides.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Teaching the women to fight,” I reply, smirking at the incredulous look on his face.

“I told you no.” 

“And I decided this was more important than following your orders.” Before he can respond I start speaking again. “You are wrong about this, I know it. The men will die if they fight alone. We just don’t have the numbers.” As I speak the words come more and more quickly, and my belief in what I’m fighting for grows stronger. Arthur is wrong. I’m right. When I finish Arthur doesn’t say anything. I note with a slight pleasure that he looks dumbfounded, maybe even mildly impressed. 

“You always have to be so stubborn,” he says finally. I stand up a little straighter. Then, he turns to look at the group of women in front of me. “Do you want to risk your lives by fighting?” he says loudly, his words echoing over the field. The woman with short blonde hair steps forward. 

“If we don’t, we risk them even more.” A murmur of agreement ripples through the rest of the women. With a sigh, Arthur turns back to me, defeated. 

“I hope you’re right about this.” A smile spreads across my face because for once, I know I am. 

***  
The morning the attackers come back is cold. Icy gusts of wind blast through Hunith’s home, where Gwen and I sit cross-legged, eating our breakfast in silence. 

“I can’t believe Arthur agreed to let them fight,” I say, hoping to break the tension. Gwen nods, a small smile spreading across her face. 

“I know,” she replies, “when I spoke to him he seemed so unwilling to listen.” I look up from my food in surprise. 

“You spoke to him?” 

She nods, looking a little reluctant. “I just wanted to make sure—” she trails off, clearly unsure of her decision, but then she starts speaking again, sounding resolute. “I just wanted to make sure he heard what I had to say.” 

“Well, clearly it helped,” I say, swallowing some of my disappointment. As grateful as I was that Arthur had consented to me the day before, it had seemed a little strange. I watch Gwen carefully as she continues to eat, a new air of determination surrounding her. 

When the first arrow whistles through the crisp air and implants itself in the trunk of a nearby tree the effect is immediate. We drop our bowls, snatch up our swords, and run outside to meet the men riding toward us. As they draw nearer I watch some of the villagers standing near me. Many of them don’t have real weapons— instead, they clutch shovels or sticks. Some of them are shaking. Others are crying. Every single one remains where they are, facing the looming, dark shapes of the riders. Then, the battle begins. 

I lose myself in a whirlwind of knives and screams, aiming my sword at flashes of solid forms that come towards me. Metal clashes against metal. Blood spills onto the grass and bodies fall to the ground, each one leaving a hollow thud in its wake. I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder but I ignore it and keep fighting people off, trying to focus on their weapons instead of their faces. 

I manage to pull myself back into reality long enough to realize that we’re losing. Most of the bodies that surround me belong to villagers, splintered weapons lying alongside them, faces eerily blank. Breathing heavily, I frantically scan the nearby area to see who’s still standing. Arthur is a few feet away. To my relief, I spot Merlin a ways behind me, looking surprisingly calm. The moment of peace doesn’t last long, however, because then the violent pounding of hooves announces that a second wave of attackers is upon us. 

Horrified and fatigued, I grip my sword determinedly, ready to resist them or die trying. There is no way out. I can’t help but wish for a miracle; only a miracle could help us win now. And then, without warning, one comes.

It starts with a soft wind that swirls around me as I struggle against a particularly tall attacker. It rapidly escalates to a storm. I stumble backward, dumbfounded, watching as the people that were beating us down only minutes ago are sent flying into the air, yanked away from victory. Everything ends in a matter of minutes. The field is quiet.

Arthur breaks the silence, his eyes wild with shock. 

“Who did that?” His voice is hollow and loud. “I know sorcery when I see it. Reveal yourself!” 

“Arthur,” I call out, my voice shaky. “Maybe we shouldn’t assume—” 

“No,” he cuts me off. “Who did it?” he yells. His features border on unhinged. For a moment, no one speaks. Then, softly, a quiet, fearful voice emerges. 

“I— I did it.” To my surprise, it’s Will, Merlin’s friend. He swallows. “I conjured the storm.” 

“Will, no,” Merlin interjects. He rapidly glances from Arthur to Will, panic showing in his eyes. 

“It’s alright,” Will continues, sounding more sure of himself, maybe even a little defiant. “I’m not afraid.” 

Shock freezes on Arthur’s face, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. He doesn’t say anything, just studies Will’s face. 

“Let’s clean up,” he says finally, his unease still apparent. I look at Gwen, who also looks surprised, albeit less so. 

As we walk back to the village I approach Merlin, who looks almost as shocked as Arthur. He’s distanced himself from Will, who walks a little ways away, staring firmly ahead. 

“You didn’t mention he was a sorcerer.” It sounds dumb leaving my lips— of course he wouldn’t tell us, why would he? Besides, judging by his reaction I’m not even sure he knew. Merlin bites his lip, staring at the grass. 

“I guess sometimes you have to protect people you care about.” 

I nod in reply, trying to think of other things I can say. Merlin keeps looking at Arthur uncomfortably. 

“He won’t hurt him,” I say, realizing what scares him. “Arthur wouldn’t—” I stop speaking, realizing that I honestly have no idea what Arthur would or wouldn’t do. “Will was very brave,” I settle on. “Arthur will recognize that.” I hope it’s true. 

For the first time since I approached him Merlin looks at me and smiles. I return it as best I can, resisting the urge to say something more. Something tells me he doesn’t really want to talk right now. I can’t help but hope that I’m right about Arthur, and that the recognition of Will’s courage will count for something. 


	5. Homecoming

The hours that follow pass quickly. Arthur makes sure everyone is okay, and Gwen helps tend to the wounded. I sit off to the side, watching Arthur’s every move, trying to figure out what he is going to do. Will and Merlin stay together, talking and collecting wood to keep the fires running. I don’t realize how long it's been until Gwen approaches me and says she should probably take care of the gash in my shoulder. 

Surprised, I look down at it to realize that the blood leaking out of the wound now covers most of my arm. Gwen’s eyes shine with sympathy. She must think I’m in a lot of pain, but in reality, everything is numb. I would welcome pain; at least it would be a distraction from the constant wondering of what is going to happen to Will.

“Arthur won’t do anything to him,” Gwen says softly, as if she can read my mind. I desperately want to believe it's true, but even she sounds hesitant: her voice is pinched and a little higher than it should be. Arthur fears magic. I’m worried he fears it more than he fears his own guilt. 

As Gwen washes the blood from my skin I watch Merlin out of the corner of my eye, noting the way he keeps looking around him, how his hands tremble, if only slightly. I can’t let this happen to him. I came here to help him, to protect his home, and if he loses a friend it would mean I failed. I can’t fail. Failure would mean Uther was right; I know nothing of what it means to be a leader. I’m not capable. As his frigid and unfeeling voice rings through my ears I begin to form a plan to ensure he’s wrong, to ensure my success.

***

When night falls Arthur announces that we will return to Camelot in the morning. I force myself to stay awake as Gwen, Merlin, Arthur, and Hunith drift into sleep, ignoring the aching of my limbs and heaviness of my eyes. I have to do this. Late into the night, I rise slowly and creep out of the door. Will is staying in a hut a little ways away. As I wander through the darkness I focus on the way my feet sink into the soft mud beneath me and the chill that pierces through my clothing to keep myself from questioning whether or not I am doing the right thing. I tell myself that the time for questioning is over; now it’s time to act. 

When I get there he is still awake. He scrambles to his feet as soon as he sees me, his eyes cold with suspicion. 

“What are you doing here?” he hisses. The way he says “you” makes me feel like he deeply dislikes me, but I don’t understand why; we’ve barely spoken. He doesn’t know me. It makes me want to turn around and leave him to his fate, but I remind myself that I’m not doing this for him, I’m doing it for Merlin. 

“You have to leave,” I say softly. “You have to run while there’s still time.” He shakes his head, his eyes narrowing. 

“Listen,” I say. “I don’t know what Arthur is going to do. But he hates magic. He’s scared of it, and that means he’s likely to do— terrible things. Things he’ll regret.” 

“You have no right to tell me what to do,” he says, anger flickering in his words. 

“Don’t you understand?” I snap. “You’ll die. He will kill you.” I don’t know if it's true, but there’s a chance. He needs to save himself. 

He stares at me fiercely, and the expression on his face reminds me eerily of an expression I’ve worn many times— when I’m around Uther. 

“You’re the one who who doesn’t understand,” he says finally, his voice icy. “You people are all the same. You live in your castles and eat your fine food, wear jewelry that costs more than everything we own, and you think you can tell us how to live our lives.” His hands curl into fists at his sides, body bristling with fury. I’m beginning to understand that he’s not angry with me, not really. He’s angry with who I represent. “What do you think is waiting for me if I leave here?” He steps towards me, and I realize he expects me to answer. 

“I— I don’t know,” I whisper, feeling a little ashamed. I step backward, away from him, startled at his ferocity. Whatever I was expecting his response to be, it wasn’t this. 

“There is nothing. You are right that there is a large chance I’ll die if I stay here. But there’s an even larger one if I leave.” 

I almost walk away. I think about it; I’ve tried to convince him, but if he doesn’t want to come there’s nothing I can do. I almost give up, but then I picture Merlin: Merlin looking terrified as Arthur approached him, asking who the sorcerer was, more agitated than I’ve ever seen him, and I realize that Will and I have more in common than he realizes. 

“You know what this will do to Merlin,” I say determinedly. Will’s eyes widen in surprise. I keep going. “It will break him. You know he’ll blame himself.” Will looks away, and I feel triumphant. Finally, I’ve found a way to persuade him.   
“Don’t talk to me as if you know him,” he hisses. “You don’t know him like I do.” 

I open my mouth to argue, but I know deep down he’s right. There’s something about Merlin that is hidden from me, I can tell by how guarded he keeps his face, how he always chooses his words carefully. Too carefully. 

“I know I don’t,” I admit. I hope I will though, someday. “But you have to leave. For him.” I watch uncertainty pass over Will’s face. 

“I can get you a horse,” I press. “And money. Enough to sustain you until you find another village.” 

“Why do you care?” 

His question catches me off guard. I hesitate, unsure of how to respond. 

“Because he’s my friend.” Will laughs unkindly. I glare at him; biting back fighting words. How would he know if Merlin is my friend or not? 

“I will go,” he says finally, “for Merlin.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve succeeded. “But trust me,” he adds, “he is not your friend. He will never be anything to you.” 

I swallow my frustration and pray that he’s wrong. 

***

Compared to the fight to convince Will to leave, the rest of the plan is easy. I give him my own horse to ride, stroking her mane one last time before handing him the reins. I also give him the fur wrapped around my shoulders, knowing that it is, in fact, worth more than any amount of money he already has. He accepts it without thanks. We move around each other silently, but after he mounts my horse he turns and looks at me wistfully. 

“I’m glad,” he says deliberately, “That there are people who care about Merlin in his new life. No matter how clueless they may be.”

I smile as I watch him disappear into the forest. 

***  
“Will is gone.” 

Arthur’s cold voice rings through Hunith’s home and wakes me up. I rub my eyes and yawn; I only managed to sleep for a few hours at most. At least I didn’t have any nightmares. Gwen stirs next to me and props herself up by her elbow. 

Will is gone!” Arthur says again, louder this time, his agitation growing. This time Merlin rises to, and I’m pleased to see relief register on his face, if only for a moment. Arthur kicks a table. He grunts in frustration, then kicks it again.

“Arthur, stop,” I say calmly. He looks at me and I recoil from the sheer anger and panic in his eyes. 

“There’s a sorcerer out there, Morgana.” He’s almost shouting. “He’s dangerous.” 

Despite Arthur’s terrifying intensity, satisfaction settles into my stomach. His crazed state is proof that I did the right thing. He would have killed him. 

“He saved us,” I say in retaliation. “If he wanted to hurt us, why would he do that?” Arthur’s body goes limp as I see realization dawn on him. Without warning, he seizes my arm and drags me outside. When we’re outside in the gray, early morning light I yank myself away and glare at him. I start to say something but he cuts me off. 

“Did you have anything to do with this?” His voice quivers with rage, all of his previous anger now pointed at me. I keep myself from stepping back and instead think about my options. I decide it's safer to lie. 

“Of course I didn’t,” I reply smoothly, folding my arms in feigned indignation. “Arthur, I’m sure he knew what you were going to do. Nothing was keeping him here.” 

“He stole a horse.” 

“He had to, didn’t he?” I say, rolling my eyes as if it were obvious. “How else would he get anywhere?” I watch as some of Arthur’s anger dissipates. 

“Maybe we should go after him,” he says half-heartedly. “My father would want me too.”

“Uther isn’t here right now,” I say firmly. “You know as well as I do that going after him is pointless. He could be anywhere.” 

The sun peeks over the trees in the distance and warms my bare arms. I hope Arthur won’t look too closely at what I’m wearing. If he realizes my fur wrap is gone he’ll know for sure. 

“Besides,” I murmur softly, taking hold of his wrists. “Do you really want to kill him?” I know Arthur. He’s practically my brother. Maybe he would have done it, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to. He’s not a murderer, at least not yet. “Uther doesn’t have to know.” 

This time he’s the one who pushes me away, taking his arms from my grip. 

“I hope you weren’t responsible for this.” He sounds almost sad. For a moment I’m worried he’ll suspect Merlin, but the feeling passes quickly. Arthur will never let himself believe Merlin did it because he couldn’t live with what he would have to do. 

***

The journey back to Camelot is faster than the journey to Ealdor. Arthur doesn’t look at me once, so I let him ride ahead with Merlin and I linger further behind. Gwen rides with me, and the fact that she's near reassures me. I can always count on her for support. Thankfully, if she’s as suspicious of me as Arthur, she doesn’t say anything. I don’t think I can share this with her, because she knows me, and she would know what it meant. She would understand why I had to save him. 

I didn’t realize I had forgotten about the warning Arthur had given me on the way to Ealdor until the guards stop us at the gates of the city. 

“Lady Morgana,” one says, bowing slightly. “You are to come with us.” 

My heart starts to pound and I hate myself for it. I don’t want to be afraid; I want to be strong. For a brief moment I consider running, but it’s not possible. I bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing as I think about how similar Will and I really are: I may be wealthy, but I’m just as trapped as he is. If I were to leave now, I would have nowhere to go. 

So I dismount and tell Gwen to prepare my chambers. All of the fear I’m trying to hold back is apparent on her face, and it only makes me more nervous. I did this. I did this, and it's time to face the consequences with everything I am, all the confidence that I did the right thing. 

“Wait!” Arthur calls out, approaching me as the guards take hold of my arm. He leans close to my face. “Be remorseful,” he whispers. “There’s no need for this to be worse than it has to.” He pulls away and gives me a pointed look. 

As the guards start to pull me away, I shake my head, letting out a small, joyless laugh. Whatever happens, I can’t pretend to be sorry. I can’t apologize. There’s not enough in me for that.


	6. Anger is Control

When they shove me to my knees in front of the king I force myself to smirk. The guards have been surprisingly careful— no doubt Uther wants me to grovel before he commands rougher treatment. But no matter what, I can’t give in.

He stands in front of me, and I want to laugh at his all too apparent desperation to seem powerful. I don’t.

“I told you not to go,” he says at last.

He says it in a matter of fact way.

“I remember,” I reply coldly, curling my hands into fists and bracing myself for what’s coming.

For a moment he’s silent, and I wonder if maybe he didn’t hear me. But then he whirls around, eyes blazing, face contorted, his body bristling with rage. I bite my tongue to keep the part of me that wants to apologize, that wants everything to be okay , in check. Instead, I force myself to stand.

“I couldn’t do nothing!” I almost scream. My teeth grind together and my nails dig into my palms. He raises his hand and I’m sure he’s going to hit me, but then he lets it fall to his side again. Unable to stop myself, I keep talking.

“I fought, you know,” I say, my voice soft again as smugness creeps into my words. “You tried so hard to stop me from knowing how to use a sword, but you couldn’t.”

This time I don’t see it coming. His hand cracks against my jaw and as he pulls it away, eyes staring into me, I imagine for an instant that regret flashes across his features. But then he seizes my shoulder and forces me to my knees again. His grip on me tightens and I imagine I can feel my bones start to crumble and leak white dust into my blood.

When he lets go it’s everything I can do to keep myself from touching the skin that still aches with the memory of his fury.

“You are not to leave the castle.” His voice is low and cold. “I do not want to see you. I do not want to hear you, or anything about you, and I certainly do not want to catch you defying me again. If you do”— he hesitates, his eyes narrowing— “I’m sure some time in the dungeons would more effectively help you understand your place.”

This time I don’t reply, even though I’m seething. The guards usher me away and walk me all the way to my room, where Gwen is scrubbing floors that are already clean.

“Gwen, you can go,” I say, focusing on making my words sound calm and controlled.

“Are you”—

“I don’t need you right now.”

Her face falls and sinks back into a dutiful mask. She curtsies and leaves. Long after her footsteps fade I collapse onto my bed and start to sob.

***

I was young when I first set foot in the castle, but that day is still crystal clear in my memory. Everything seemed so large and impressive— the vast halls, the arched ceilings, the chandeliers, and of course, the throne. When I met Uther he was seated on it, his back impossibly rigid, eyes expressionless, mouth set in a firm line. But when my father introduced me his face broke into the faintest of smiles. I’m not sure if anyone else in the room noticed; the only reason I did was because he was looking straight at me, into me, his gaze strangely familiar. Uther had always liked to think of everything as his. Even people.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said. “I’m glad we’ve finally met.”

My father nudged me and gave me a pointed look, so I pasted a smile onto my face.

“As am I, your majesty.”

A few years later my father was dead and I was told that Uther was to be my new guardian. I ran away in response; my limited experience with Uther was enough to make me realize how much I didn’t want to be under his control. There was something off about the way he treated me whenever I was around him. It made me uncomfortable.

I wandered through the woods for an hour before the guards found me. So, the castle became my new home, losing some of its luster in the process.

Those first few years it seemed like everything was mine. When I stepped into my chambers there would be gowns on the bed and jewelry on the dresser. However, what I really wanted was a sword and the ability to use it. Uther laughed at my request, but it was, ultimately, granted. I would ask for something and it would appear, as if by magic.

***

I bore witness to my very first execution by accident. Arthur and I were chasing each other through the halls, his short, golden hair in stark contrast to mine, which was long and dark. He followed me everywhere, including out into the courtyard, which was where I happened to decide to go that day.

Even though we both heard the screams often we always ignored them. They, like the dungeons beneath the castle that were always filled with people, belonged to a different Camelot, a darker, crueler Camelot, one neither of us had any desire to live in.

It was raining heavily, but the water pounding against the courtyard wasn’t enough to drown out the cries of the woman who was being dragged to the chopping block, or the sound of Uther’s voice crashing down on us from above.  
“Morgana,” Arthur whispered, tugging at my sleeve. He was considerably shorter than me. “We should go.”

I shook him off, rooted to the ground, eyes wide, unable to understand what he was saying. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. The woman wasn’t young, but she wasn’t old yet either— she looked like my father did, right before he died.

The guards forced her to her knees in front of the block but by then she was screaming, the sound hot and sharp in my ears, so one of them struck her across the face. Then, he shoved her head against the wood. A quiet yet sickening crack echoed off the stone ground.

“Morgana!” Arthur said, louder this time. I ignored him. He ran away from me, back inside the castle, leaving me completely alone. I wanted to follow him but I couldn’t bring myself to move, some stronger part of me binding my gaze to the woman and her fate.

A hooded man standing by the block raised an axe but I still was so sure this wasn’t going to happen, it couldn’t, because she was crying, softly now. How could they murder a person who was crying?

By the time I realized she was doomed the axe had already fallen.

***  
That same day I also realized that Uther’s tendency to give me what I wanted had limits. Ignoring Arthur’s efforts to calm me down, I burst into the throne room where I knew I would find him, surrounded by advisors and knights. The sound of the door opening and closing startled everyone, and they all turned to look at me.

“Morgana,” Uther said, looking only slightly annoyed. “What are you doing here?”

I took a deep breath. I wasn’t scared of this man. He wasn’t my father. I didn’t owe him anything.

“I want the executions to stop.”

A nervous murmur passed through the men. Shock registered on Uther’s face, followed by a smug laugh.

“Go to your chambers, Morgana. This is no place for you.”

“I want them to stop!” That time no one said anything. Silence filled the hall.

Wordlessly, Uther grasped my small elbow and dragged me out the door, then shut it with his free hand.  
“You are a child,” he whispered forcefully, “so you do not understand why certain things are necessary.” His hold on me tightened and I felt myself go pale with fear. “But I think you are intelligent enough to understand this: what you said is in direct defiance of me, which means it is treason. Treason is punishable by death. Is that clear?”

In vain, I tried to keep myself from crying and nodded.

“Take her to her nurse,” he said to a nearby guard. And with that he was gone, leaving me with a bruised arm and a new, searing feeling that burrowed relentlessly into my gut. As the years passed, I made it a point to watch every single execution to remind myself of the kind of person Uther was. The feeling grew stronger, festering inside me, burning until I couldn’t imagine it ever going away, until I didn’t want it to.

***  
_In the throne room Uther’s face swims in front of me, crumpling, more emotion in his eyes than I ever imagined he was capable of. He’s on his knees and I’m standing above him, and I realize that there’s something unusual stirring inside me: raw power. It fills every part of my body, this body that is so far from the person who once kneeled in front of the king._

I awake in my room smiling and afraid. Residue from the energy I had in the dream still clings to me. I’m terrified, but I’m terrified of how fearless I feel, how much I loved the power, and I’m not screaming. Most of all, I’m terrified at how much I want to be the person that stood, tall and proud, in front of Uther. Of how much I crave her.

I push myself off the mattress and run to the mirror, fingers tracing my eyes, my nose, my lips. The door creaks open and I quickly back away and return to my bed.

“My lady”? Gwen tiptoes in. For a moment I consider pretending to be asleep, but decide against it. I have no real reason to deceive her.

“Yes?” I rise into a seated position. She lets out an audible sigh of relief.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” she says.

“I’m fine,” I respond gently. “I’m sorry I was so abrupt earlier.”

She lingers and I know she wants to hear more about what happened, even if she’ll never ask. But after she realizes that I don’t plan on elaborating she leaves.

I drift off with the memory of power on my fingertips, surprisingly calm, and for the first time in a long while I sleep through the rest of the night.


	7. Murder

As the dreams persist I begin to hunger for them in the daylight. Sitting in my bedroom and gazing out the window I summon memories of executions, one after another, each more painful than the last. I wait for Uther to soften, but I can’t be submissive, I just can’t, not when my jaw still aches and my stomach twists with fury at the thought of him and his voice, his face, his taunting laugh. I’m not yet sure what I’m going to do, but I know I’m going to do something. I have to.

But there is a time, I decide, for fighting, and right now it’s best to wait. So after a week of wandering through the familiar corners of my chambers, I brush my hair, slip jewels into my ears and around my neck, and look for Uther.

When I find him he’s in the throne room as usual, but fortunately he’s alone, staring out into the courtyard, watching the sky and stone, not unlike the way I did. I wonder if he remembers his murders as well as I do.

“My lord,” I begin, my voice sweet and lilting. He turns around and I curtsy, the silky fabric of my gown brushing against the floor. “I want to apologize for my behavior.”

At first I almost gag on my pathetic words, but as I let out saccharine nonsense about how much I respect him I notice that the once cold expression on his face starts to shift into something— relieved. Almost happy. He believes me, trusts me so completely that he doesn’t hesitate for an instant to question my honesty.

Of course, it’s because he still sees me as a weak child, someone nowhere near capable enough or intelligent enough to fool him, but despite that, I feel a cool, sadistic pleasure at how easily I can manipulate him. It startles me.

“All is forgiven,” he says with a casual brush of his hand when I finish, letting out an audible exhale. “Let us speak of it no more.”

He smiles at me and I smile as well, but not so much at him as at my power over him, at the knowledge that eventually he will be the one asking for forgiveness from me. I ignore the faint wave of nausea that comes with it.

***

The time for fighting arrives when on a hot morning I realize Gwen is crying while making my bed, unable to disguise her quiet sobs.

“Gwen?” I ask, rising from my position in front of the mirror. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” She had been acting strangely for the past couple of days, always in a hurry to get home, offering brief, simple answers to my questions instead of her usual warm and bubbly replies. I hadn’t thought much of it until now; I assumed she wasn’t feeling well, and I had been preoccupied with other thoughts.

“Nothing,” she says, her voice breaking on the word.

“Gwen,” I murmur, “don’t lie to me. I’ve known you for too long.”

She finally turns to look at me and reveals her tearstained face in the process.

“I don’t want to bother you,” she says at last. “And I—” she trails off and returns to my bed suddenly.

“Gwen? You can tell me. It’s okay. Whatever it is, maybe I can help you.” I want her to be able to confide in me. Gwen has always been more than just my maid, she’s also my friend. She’s the only friend I have, really.

“I don’t want to make things worse for you.” She says it quickly, as if hoping I’ll let the comment go without questioning it.

“What do you mean, worse for me?”

I walk over to her and gently tug her away from what she’s doing, placing my hands on her shoulders in an effort to seem comforting. She sighs.

“I’m okay,” she says, but as soon as the words leave her lips the tears start coming faster, and I know this is something that I can’t just ignore. I sit on the bed and motion for her to sit next to me and she does, head in her hands.

“Please talk to me.” Slowly, she pulls her hands away from her face and takes several deep breaths.

“It’s my father,” she begins. “He— he was accused of consorting with sorcerers.” My eyes widen and I see her falter, but I nod vigorously and lean closer to encourage her to keep going, even though I can already guess what her next words will be. “He was sentenced to death.”

Even though I was expecting the last part it still shocks me, and I let out a small gasp. Of course, what she didn’t add was that Uther was the one who sentenced him. She didn’t need to. He is responsible, just as he is always responsible, just as he was when I was a little girl watching a murder in his name for the first time.

“I won’t let this happen.” Gwen shakes her head rapidly. “I won’t,” I press.“Uther won’t get away with this.”

“It won’t do any good.”

“I have to try,” I respond, quickly getting to my feet. I start pacing nervously. The first step is getting Gwen away from everything. She doesn’t need to be here.

“Gwen, you should go home.” I take her hands and squeeze them softly. “You need to relax.”

“My lady, I—”

“No,” I cut her off. “Go home. That’s an order.” Her eyebrows twist in surprise, and she curtsies quickly before leaving the room.

I keep pacing long after she’s gone. Uther will never yield to my requests; his response to my trip to Ealdor is proof of that. Without thinking, I touch my face and let my fingers brush lightly against the bruises that haven’t quite faded from where his leather-gloved hand connected with my jaw. No, he will never listen to me, and if I defy him one more time he won’t trust me again, either.

I picture him, sitting comfortably on the throne, commanding Gwen’s father to death with the same wave of his hand he used to dismiss me. My blood sizzles in my veins. An uncomfortable heat comes over me, and it’s all I can do not to rush from my chamber this instant, down to the throne room where Uther always, always is, lording his power over everyone, forcing people to kneel before him while displaying his cruel, mocking smile. It’s all I can do not to burst in through the great wooden doors, knife in hand, watching his face go slack with shock at the idea of someone, anyone, defying him, let alone his loving, simple ward who has nothing but gratitude in her heart. I would run, not walk, towards him, blade aimed at his heart, or maybe his neck, whichever would hurt more— and my rush of thoughts comes to a screeching halt as an icy realization hits me.

I want to kill him.

I want to kill him and watch his eyes sharpen with pain, his blood staining his clothes, my hands, the ground, his body quivering uncontrollably as he begs me to stop. I won’t. I’ll keep going and smile the way he taught me as the sheer power electrifies my nerves, laugh as his life, his humanity, fades away. I hope it happens slowly. I hope he screams.

But then I want to vomit, suddenly overcome by my violent thoughts. I shouldn’t take pleasure in killing him, in killing anyone, I should dread it, I should want to avoid it at all costs. What is wrong with me?

I’m doing this for Gwen, I remind myself. To save her father. Something is wrong, however, because every time I start to tiptoe to the brink of realizing that killing Uther won’t save Gwen’s father, it won’t help her at all, I urge myself away. It’s better this way; if Uther’s gone there’s no one to ensure the executions will continue. I’ll be saving everyone, not just one person. Yes, murdering him is the best way.

I just need to do it carefully.

A knock sounds at the door, jerking me back into reality. Merlin stands at the other side, anxiety on his face. Something about him makes me feel unsettled about what I’m planning, something about the way he looks at me.

“Yes?” I hope I don’t sound impatient.

“Morgana,” he says, “I was— well, I was wondering— I assume you heard about Gwen’s father,” he stammers out. I exhale. She must have told him.

“I did. It’s terrible.”

“I was wondering if there was anything you could do,” he says carefully. “I don’t want to be rude, but—” He trails off.

“But what?” I ask, even though I know what he’s getting at.

“You're the king’s ward,” he responds. “Maybe you can convince him to change his mind.”

I smile sadly, thinking about that day so many years ago when I thought that was true.

“Uther doesn’t care what I think,” I say bitterly. His face falls and something inside me crumples.

“I have a plan, though,” I say quickly. It’s mostly true; I have the beginnings of one, at least. “Tell Gwen not to worry. Her father will live.”

I thought my words would make him relieved, but to my dismay, his eyes narrow with suspicion and worry. He sucks in a breath.

“Please be careful, Morgana.” His voice is quiet. “Don’t do anything rash. You might regret it later.”

His words make me hesitate. What if he’s right? But at the same time, I don’t know how I could ever regret making Uther disappear forever.

“You should go.”

He backs away from me, concern still written across his face, and starts to disappear down the hall.

“Merlin!” I call out. He turns back to look at me. “Tell Gwen to take the next couple of days off. I want her to rest.”

His gaze falls to the floor. He doesn’t answer me, but I don’t doubt for a moment that he will do what I ask.

***

I never thought murdering Uther would be simple, but there’s something almost comical in how easy he makes it. When I approach him asking if we can make a pilgrimage to my father’s grave, just the two of us, he practically falls over himself with eagerness. There’s something incredibly satisfying about the idea of killing him on the grass that grows above my father’s body.

Obtaining the knife is also effortless. At midnight I creep down to the kitchens and tuck it between the nightgown I’m wearing and my waist, the flat surface of the metal cool against my skin. Back at my chambers I hold it up to the window, admiring how the moonlight reflects against the silver. It’s beautiful. Strangely and hauntingly beautiful.

When we set out the next day the early morning light is just barely visible behind dark gray clouds. Uther gazes into the sky with a look that’s almost wistful.

“It might rain,” he murmurs. “Maybe we should do this on a more pleasant day.”

My heart skips a beat. It’s supposed to be today. Everything I’ve done, everything felt and thought, was all leading up to today. I can’t wait anymore.

“My lord, I’m sure it’s okay.” I smile as sweetly as possible. “My father always loved the rain, as do I,” I add. I feel a rush of adrenaline as I see him nod in consent. I knew exactly what I needed to say, and it worked.

When we reach the hill where my father is buried the sky is even darker. A low rumbling sounds in the distance, and for a moment something stirs inside me. Not now, I think. I’m so close. I can do this. To reassure myself I feel for the knife tucked into the inside of my sleeve.

Uther dismounts his horse and offers his hand to help me, and to my horror I realize I haven’t decided if I’m going to aim for his chest or slit his throat. Which one will be easier? Which one will be quicker? Does it matter?

My heart pounds as we kneel on the wild grass. The first, small droplets of rain brush against my face. Now. I should do it now. It doesn’t matter where, if I’ve stabbed him once I can do it again, and again, and again until finally he’s dead and still. I shudder involuntarily. Before I can change my mind I start to reach for the knife in my sleeve, but then Uther starts to speak.

“Your father was a great man.”

I nod in response. The rain starts falling faster and I feel my hair and cloak dampen. I blink furiously to stop the water from trickling into my eyes.

“He was the bravest man I knew. He was never scared to go on the most dangerous missions.” Uther pauses and lets out a small laugh, but it’s not mocking or cruel, it almost seems kind. Maybe a little sad, too. “And of course, he never failed to stand up to me. It made me furious most of the time, but I— I always admired him for it.”

The water crashes down on us in sheets and Uther starts speaking louder, his voice barely distinguishable beneath the roar of the rain.

“Then he died, and I promised him I would always protect you. No matter what.” His voice breaks, if only slightly. I desperately try to ignore his words because if I hear him I know I won’t be able to do it. Trembling, I slowly pull the knife out of my sleeve, the handle slippery from the rain. The storm quiets.

“And you, you were so fierce,” he whispers. “So confident. Arthur worshipped you, of course. My hand shakes uncontrollably as the knife approaches his back. “You remind me so much of your father.”

Unable to stop myself, I look up at him.

“He would have been so proud.” My fingers tighten against the knife, but it weighs so much, and I can’t make myself see this man as the same one who struck me, as the same one who murdered so many people. “As am I.”

My hand falls to the ground, the knife that was almost responsible for the death of a king concealed beneath the grass. I start to cry softly. If Uther notices he doesn’t say anything, only stands and pulls me to my feet beside him.

I don’t reach for the knife. It stays in the grass as we ride away, a secret, a gift for my father who the man I almost murdered claims is proud of me. No one has ever said they were proud of me before. By the time we reach Camelot the rain has long since stopped, but my face is still very wet.

***

Later that day a resounding cry echoes through the empty, soaked courtyard and I rush to my window to see Gwen alone, leaning over a covered cart. Everything freezes as I realize I know exactly what’s in the cart.

I should go to her. I should apologize. If I had done it— but I can’t allow myself to think like that. I can’t.

Instead, I rapidly back away from the window and sink to my knees in the middle of the room, collapsing under the weight of how much and in how many ways I have failed.


	8. The Future

_The ground is icy; the altar is stone. A violent wind pushes through the air, rustling the grass and scaring the sun away. The sky floods with shadowy clouds._

_Here. Here is where it ends, where everything stops, where our doom comes crawling out of its cave and roars. It can’t be stopped._

I don’t bother screaming for Gwen when I awake, I just run. Outside, I can hear Arthur announcing the journey to kill the questing beast, the fearsome animal that attacked him and his knights. I can’t let him go. If he goes, I am doomed. We all are.

I know it in the way the grass in that haunted place writhed in the wind, in the way the air was cold, how everything smelled slightly off, covered in a thin layer of grime. It was still— nothing human had stirred there in a very long time. It was wrong. The place was wrong, and if Arthur leaves now it will claim him forever.

I sprint through the castle, out the door, down the steps to where Arthur turns to see me, surprised. I don’t let him speak.

“You can’t go. You have to stay.”

He narrows his eyebrows in confusion, face twisting into a partly nervous, partly amused expression.

“I have to go,” he says, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll be fine, Morgana, all the knights will be with me—”

“You won’t come back!” I cut him off sharply, hysteria working its way into my voice despite my efforts to suppress it. I take a deep breath, trying to expel my frustration. “I know you don’t care what I think. I know you think I’m worthless, that you’ve never—” I feel a rush of sick pleasure at the horrified expression on his face.  
“I don’t—”

“You have to trust me now. Nothing good will come of this.” I spit the words in his face, angry at how little he respects me, at how my warnings mean nothing to him.

“I have to go,” he says again. Sadness creeps into his eyes and for a moment I feel terribly, terribly sorry for him. Then he turns away from me, mounting his horse, and I’m angry again.

“Please!” I scream. But the word bounces uselessly off the stone courtyard as Arthur disappears into the distance.

***

I watch from my window as they bring him back, lifeless, limp over the frame of his horse. Something hot twists inside me, furious and justified, shockingly pleased at the fact that I was right, that if he had listened to me, trusted me, he could have avoided this. Then I remember that he could be dead and the feeling leaves as quickly as it arrived.

I rush from my room and try to find Merlin, tearing through the castle corridors until I see him leaving Gaius’ chambers. I grab him and pull him into an alcove.

“What happened?” I start to shake when I notice the fear in his eyes, my grip on him slackening. He looks down at my hand in surprise. Embarrassed, I quickly let go, but keep looking at him expectantly. I need to know.

“The questing beast,” he begins slowly, “It— it wounded him.”

“What does that mean?”

He pauses, dread flooding me as he shakes his head in fear.

“What does it mean!” I demand. I need to hear him say it, even if I already know.

“There’s no cure.” For a moment, neither of us say anything, just stare at the floor as the full weight of the situation descends upon our heads, crushing us.

“He should have listened to me,” I say icily, cold seeping into my bones.

“Morgana, no one could have known—”

“I knew!” I cut him off. “I knew, and I warned him, but he didn’t listen. No one ever listens.”

“It was just a nightmare.”  
“That’s not true!” I shriek. Merlin takes a step back.

“Please,” he whispers, “please don’t yell.”

Suddenly, I realize how much power I have over him. How I could destroy him with a single word, a single accusation. I wouldn’t even need proof. But instead, I breathe deeply and glare at him cruelly.

“This is your fault.”

I’m both disgusted and pleased with myself at how desolate his face looks as it crumples.

***

I sneak into Arthur’s chambers after nightfall.

There is no moon tonight, and his features are barely visible in the smoky darkness. The bandage on his chest has already filled with blood, and stark, crimson stains have spread across his skin and onto the sheets. I wish I could make it stop.

As I stand over him I find myself speaking, for some reason unable to stop the deluge of naked, shivering words that fall from my mouth.

“You can’t die. You just can’t. There has to be some way we can save you, but I can’t—I don’t— I don’t know what to do. I should be able to save you, but I don’t think I can. I don’t know how. I need to know how.”

My voice breaks, and I dissolve into silent tears.

***

The first time I met Arthur I was sure I would hate him. After refusing to leave my chambers for weeks, Uther decided to come to the door himself. I was so terrified I gave in as soon as the order left his lips, nodding helplessly. He escorted me to the throne room where a small, blonde-haired boy was waiting.

“This,” Uther said proudly, “is my son, Prince Arthur. He is going to be king one day.”

I studied him carefully. His eyes were blue and almost watery, his smile filled with almost as much pride as Uther’s words. He had to be at least a couple of years younger than me.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he said, stepping forward. The name sounded clunky and awkward coming out of his mouth, a little too big for his childish voice. I almost laughed, then thought better of myself.

“I’m Morgana.”

He stared at the floor, and I realized with a rush of relief that he was nervous, probably more than I was. I stood up straighter.

Armed with newfound confidence, I asked him what he liked to do, noting how Uther smiled at my attempt to start a conversation. As Arthur answered I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes flitted from me to his father, as if making sure he was saying the right thing.

After he took me to the courtyard to show me his wooden swords, and we sparred until the sun went down. I won every time, my happiness growing with each victory and awe-filled glance Arthur gave me. I began to think that maybe, just maybe, my new life wouldn’t be so bad.

***  
I cry until the mattress is cold and damp against my face, until my head aches dully and my eyes feel sore. I lift my head and look at Arthur, wishing we were children again, running around without heavy expectations, or lack thereof, to hold us back.

“I think I’m horrible sometimes,” I whisper. The room is silent. There is no one to hear this. “Really, really horrible.” I take in breath after struggling breath. “Sometimes I hate you.”

I’ve never said this before, not to anyone, never even thought it, not explicitly, but as soon as the words escape my lips and dance into the unfeeling air I know they’re true. I hate him. I hate him so much it hurts, latched onto that hatred with so much of myself that losing him would be like plunging a knife into my stomach and carving out an organ. Perhaps that is the only way I know how to love.

***

I won against Arthur for the next five years, breathless and proud with my sword against his throat, piercing his chest. Eventually we switched to real swords and the thrill grew, something about the silver metal adding a level of glamour that wasn’t there before. Suddenly the childish activity we once bonded over was dangerous, real, heightened by the cuts and sometimes gashes that opened on our arms and legs, by the knowledge that holding the tip of my weapon against Arthur’s body in victory meant that I could hurt him. Kill him, even.

But then things changed.

It happened slowly. My body softened, it’s hardness giving into curves, pain blossoming where before there was nothing. Men began to look— they never stared outright, but their gazes lingered in ways that made me uncomfortable, the extra second their eyes swept over my figure frightening me.

Meanwhile, Arthur grew taller and bigger, Uther giving him more and more responsibilities.

I started losing. The first time we both thought it was a fluke, and he teased me all through the day as I rolled my eyes in annoyance. Then, it happened again. And again. Soon he was winning more than I did, and not long after it was every time.

Frustrated after my fifteenth consecutive loss, I threw the sword into the ground and stormed back into the castle. Arthur followed. Of course, he caught up with me easily.

“You shouldn’t be upset,” he said uneasily. “It’s normal, you know, because—” he trailed off.

“Because what?”

“Nevermind.”

“No,” I said angrily, “I want to know.”

“Because you’re a girl,” he concluded sheepishly. He stared at the floor in a way that reminded me of the day we met.

Filled with rage, I spat at him. He backed away, looking mildly disgusted.

“What are you doing?”

His indignant expression only made me angrier, the rage turning sizzling hot. I felt myself turn wild underneath that stupid, useless body that I had grown to hate with a passion. I flew at him.

He wasn't ready for it.

Slack with shock, I pushed him over easily and started punching, kicking, biting, anything that would cause harm. His cries for me to stop could barely be heard over the roaring in my ears, but before I knew what was happening someone grabbed hold of me and yanked me away from him. I watched, almost proud, as Arthur, covered in blood, scrambled to his feet.

“What have you done?”

Whatever satisfaction I felt turned to fear at the sight of Uther, quivering with a fury much more terrifying and mature than my own, standing over me.

“I– I—”

My words failed me as panic took over.

“It’s time for this behavior to stop.”

His voice was dull with a sense of finality. Later, there would be fighting, shouting, screams of frustration as everything I wanted— racing, sparring, the sense of freedom— was taken away. But in that moment, I realized undoubtedly that my fate was sealed. There was nothing I could do.

***

When I feel myself slipping into sleep I know it's time to leave. Looking down at Arthur’s face, I wonder if he can hear what I’m saying, if it matters. Gathering the last of my strength, I will it all into one last confession.

“I wish I was more like you.”

I expect something to happen, for the walls to crumble around me, the ceiling to melt, but nothing does. The room is still.

Just as I’m about to turn away, I imagine I see a ghost of a smile spread across Arthur’s lips. For a brief moment the moon pushes its way out of the clouds, glinting against his golden hair, and I’m reminded of laughing in the sunlight, of the wind on my face. But then the night smothers it once more, and I’m left alone in darkness.


	9. Sacrifice

The next day Merlin is gone.

When I wake up I can sense it— I know it's wrong, that whatever he’s doing will only make everything worse, but by the time I go to Gaius to ask where he is it's too late. I return to my room and pace, trying desperately to think of something I can do to help. It’s useless. Even when I concentrate I can’t quite pinpoint exactly why Merlin leaving is bad or what will come from his actions. So I do the only thing I can: wait for him to return.

He comes riding back several days later, and I feel myself sag with relief. I wander out into the courtyard and watch as he dismounts his horse, agitation written all over his face. As he starts to walk up the steps I stop him.

“Where did you go?” Merlin’s eyes widen in poorly disguised panic, and he hesitates a moment too long before answering.

“To collect herbs for Gaius.”

“For several days?” I fold my arms across my chest. I can tell he’s not telling the truth, and I’m not going to let him leave until I find out.

“These herbs. They could help Arthur. I need to get them to him as soon as possible,” he says quickly.

“We’ll both go to him, then.” I spin on my heel, not bothering to check if he’s following me. Something isn’t right, and I need to know what it is. I need to fix this.

“Morgana,” he calls, pursuing me, “wait.” I whirl around, seething with anger.

“I know you’re lying to me,” I hiss. “ I know you’re hiding something, and I know it's dangerous. I’m not going to let anything happen to Arthur—”

“He’ll be safe. Please.” His voice quivers. “I just need to take this to him. Please trust me.”

“You’ve never trusted me,” I shoot back.

We stare at each other icily, conflict stretched between us. Several emotions flutter inside me, wearing at my resolve as I feel Merlin slowly gaining the upper hand. He knows it. He is the only one that has a chance of saving Arthur right now, and I am the one holding him back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Then he walks away, leaving me with anger, frustration, and guilt searing my insides. I hate that he thinks he knows better. I hate the way I feel when I look at him. I hate how genuine he sounded, how committed he is to saving Arthur. I hate how much better he is at it than me.

***

I avoid Merlin the next few days, even as Arthur makes a full recovery. After Uther manages to rein in his emotion and lock it away again, I slip into Arthur’s room, unable to suppress the immense relief I feel.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say after several moments of silence. He’s sitting up in bed, leaning against his red pillows.

“If almost dying is what it took to get you to admit you care about me, I guess it was worth it,” he responds. I roll my eyes and he smiles.

“I hope you’re prepared for the endless series of celebrations held in your honor.”

“I think I can handle it,” he says, grinning. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

I shake my head, still smiling, and start to leave.

“Wait.” I stop as my hand brushes the door handle, turning back around.

“Did you,” he begins, serious now, “Did you come to see me? When I was unconscious?”

My heart freezes as the real meaning behind his words and utterly joyless look hits me. Could he possibly have heard everything I said?

“I— I think so,” I stammer. “I was really tired. I might have, but I don’t really remember.”

“Oh. I just— for some reason I have this weird memory of you speaking to me.” I clench my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “It was probably a dream.”

I shrug, and quickly step out of the room before he can ask me more. I breathe deeply, assuring myself that there’s no way he could know for sure, that even if he remembers my voice it's unlikely he’ll remember what I said.

I hurry away from Arthur’s chambers, wishing I could take back everything that left my lips that night by his bedside and hide it somewhere no one would think to look.

***

That night the sound of footsteps outside my door wakes me up. It shouldn’t seem strange— plenty of servants clean the castle at night— but something tells me this isn’t normal. I quietly slip out of bed and tug open my door just in time to see Merlin disappear around the corner.

Ignoring that it's late and my limbs are heavy from exhaustion, I creep after him, pale nightgown billowing behind me, the floor cold against my bare feet.

When he reaches the stables I speak. As much as I would like to follow him, I’m in no condition to get on a horse, and there’s no way I’ll be able to stay close enough to see where he’s going and remain unheard.

“I knew you were hiding something.” My voice is dull and cold.

“How did you—”

“I could hear you, and I already suspected.”

You followed me?” he says, incredulous.

“Don’t be so shocked.” I need to get through to him. I need to make him understand. “Merlin, I have these dreams. I know it sounds crazy. I know it sounds like— like magic, but you have to believe me. I wish I didn’t have them. But they’re real.”

I drag my fingers through my tangled hair, suddenly aware of how insane I must look, barefoot, not fully dressed, dark circles under my eyes stark against my face. But Merlin isn’t looking at me like I’m insane. He looks like he’s listening.

“How do you know they’re real?” Something inside me comes to life at the simple question. Finally, someone isn’t laughing, or talking to me like I’m foolish, or refusing to take me seriously.

“They’re vivid,” I explain. “It’s like I’m there. I’ve had dreams, normal dreams, and everything feels hazy. By morning I can only remember pieces. But these dreams— it feels like I’m really there. Like they’re actually happening. Even after months have passed I can remember them perfectly.”

At some point I must have grabbed hold of his hands without noticing, because now he is squeezing mine gently, his face close. We don’t speak.

“I believe you.”

I almost laugh at how such a small phrase can affect me so much. A tightness in my chest starts to unravel, the fear swimming around my vision dissipates, and the voices telling me that I’m crazy and weak still to a murmur. At least one person believes me, and for now, that’s enough.

“I need to do something,” he continues. “I can’t tell you what it is. I want to, but I can’t.” I start to tell him that whatever it is he can tell me, but then stop myself. Maybe it's okay for this to be a secret. Maybe I don’t need to know, at least, I don’t need to know right now.

“It's okay,” I say quietly, and I can’t help but see my own relief mirrored on his face. I look down, realizing that he’s still holding onto me. Only now I’m gripping _his_ hands, reassuring _him_.

“But I know you’re right, because— because—” he trails off.

“Because what?”

“Because I think I made a mistake. A really big mistake. Because you were right when you told Arthur not to go. I should have listened to you.” His breathing turns sharp and jagged.

“Merlin,” I say gently, relieved that I’m not the only one who's scared, that finally someone has admitted I was right, “you saved Arthur. He was dying. Maybe you made a mistake, but at least something good came of it.”

“I need to go.”

I nod in response. He slowly lets go of my hands, and a small wave of sadness passes over me as they fall to my sides.

I wait until him and his horse have disappeared before dragging myself back to the castle.

***  
As I predicted, Uther holds a feast for Arthur shortly after. Arthur smiles and expresses appreciation throughout the whole thing, but I know him well enough to see exasperation and annoyance behind his pleasant expression. It makes me smile.

“To my son!” Uther lifts a glass lazily, slightly careless from wine, and people in the hall echo his words. Despite his state, true happiness gleams on his face— I wonder if he would look like that if it were me that almost died.

Amid the sea of cheering people I catch sight of Merlin standing against the wall, looking slightly happier than before. After a moment he slips into a corridor, and I excuse myself and rise from my place next to Arthur.

He’s loitering a few feet away as if waiting for me, and I’m struck by how dark and silent our surroundings seem compared to the warm light that fills the hall.

“Your mistake,” I say quietly, approaching him, “did you fix it?” I already know the answer, though, because everything feels alright again, that uneasy sense of wrong I felt mysteriously gone. I stop before I get too close to him, suddenly aware of how much space there is between us.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.”

He nods curtly and starts to walk away.

“Thank you,” I say while he’s still within earshot. He stops, then turns around.

“For what?”

The question is so cold, so unfeeling, that I almost don’t answer. I tell myself that I don’t need Merlin, that I know I’m not insane, that everything will be fine whether he speaks to me or not. But then I think of the way he looked at me by the stables, and I know that whatever existed between us then, I have to try to get it back.

“For believing in me,” I murmur softly. Unease flickers over Merlin’s face. He only gives me a curt nod before leaving, this time for good.

I retreat into the firelit hall, blinking back tears and reminding myself to stand tall, straight, proud. I don’t need Merlin. I don’t need anyone. Next time I have an opportunity, I’m going to find out what he’s hiding.


	10. Into the Woods

_He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face. There’s an energy, a power, that clings to him, the same presence I wish would cling to me. I want it. I want it so much it hurts. Before I can stop myself the minimal space separating us into two people vanishes, and I’m holding on to him, holding so tightly that his presence surges through me and becomes mine. I’m filled with power, so much that I lose myself in its wild waves. I don’t want it to stop._

Heart hammering, the energy of my dream pulls me out of sleep, and as I open my eyes the brilliant glow of fire fills the room. I scream. I feel myself go numb with fear, tremors overtaking my body, unable to do anything as flames consume the curtain and drip down to the floor. 

Even after everything is resolved, after Gwen runs in, puts the fire out, and comforts me, after it's decided that the wind is at fault, the terror lingers. Because I know that the world isn’t to blame for the fire, for its destruction. I am. I am, and I will always be, no matter what.

***

First thing in the morning, I go to speak to Gaius. But when I knock on the door, it’s Merlin who opens it. 

“Morgana?”

I struggle to maintain control, to keep myself from thinking about the earlier part of the dream, the part that was just as scary as the second, if in a completely different way. 

"I’m here to speak to Gaius,” I say at last. 

“He’s not here.”

“Oh.” We both avoid looking at each other. 

“Merlin,” I begin, working up the courage to proceed, “can I come in?” 

He sucks in a breath, hesitating, even though he knows he can’t refuse me, not really. Finally, he nods and motions for me to enter, looking down the corridor and both directions before closing the door. 

“I think—” The words stall in my throat as I try to summon the same trust I had for him that night at the stables, the trust that slowly dissipated as the weeks of silence passed. Whatever was between us then, Merlin clearly didn’t want it back. But I have no one else to turn to— something tells me that Merlin will understand, will accept me, despite what I’m about to say. “I think I have magic.” 

As the heavy, painful words leave my lips I feel a knot in my chest start to unravel, my mind letting go of the strands of fear I had been dragging behind me like chains. I had suspected for a long time— ever since the dreams began. I had known there was something different about me, something wrong. Now that I knew what it was, I could say it out loud, I didn’t have to be scared. I had magic. It was the truth, there was nothing I could do to change it, and whatever consequences it carried I could face with my head held high. 

The relief is short-lived. 

“Why would you say that?” 

I take a step back, unable to process his skepticism. 

“Morgana, you don’t have magic. You’ve never done anything—”

“I started the fire!” How can he not believe me? “I started the fire last night!” Why would I make this up? 

“Everyone said it was the wind—” 

“It wasn’t the wind,” I say, staring at the floor, desperation draining my anger. “It was me. I know it was.” 

He only shakes his head. His shoulders sag, and suddenly I feel stupid and weak. I know I’m right— my mistake wasn’t believing i had magic, but believing I could trust him. Believing I wasn’t alone. 

“I’ll talk to Gaius. Maybe he can give you something.” 

I don’t reply, just leave, slamming the door on my way out. I don’t need him. I can figure this out on my own. 

I don’t think of the druids until I’m back in my chambers staring out the window, realizing what all of this means. If I have magic, if anyone finds out— I picture myself in the courtyard, my head on the chopping block, and shiver. Then I remember Mordred. I remember how scared he was, how he trembled when his father was executed. 

The solution seems obvious. The druids can help me. They have magic, and they’re peaceful, and I helped return Mordred to them. They are the answer. 

***

When I was younger, Uther took Arthur and me on a raid of a druid camp. Whereas Arthur actually fought, I was instructed to wait, to watch, to linger at the top of the hill as the camp nestled in the valley was completely destroyed. I closed my eyes, but could do nothing to erase the screams that rang through my ears in the middle of the night for months afterwards. On the ride back to Camelot I focused on the paths, noting every turn, every tree, every leaf on the ground. It was all I could do to distract myself. 

“How could you do it?” 

I asked Arthur the same question over and over, whenever we were alone. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that he killed them, that he had to live with their blood on his hands. I may have heard the screams, but he had caused them. He always gave me the same deliberate, mechanical response. 

“They were a threat to the kingdom. If we don’t defeat them Camelot will be destroyed.” 

Except for one night when I awoke to find him in my chambers, hovering over my bed, face streaked with tears. I sat up immediately, shocked to see him like that. It had been a long time since Arthur had shown any signs of weakness. 

“Arthur?” I whispered. “What are you doing?” 

“Do you ever have nightmares?” His voice sounded broken. I didn’t need to ask him what he was talking about. I nodded slowly. 

“Do you?”

“Every night. I don’t know why. I know I did the right thing, I know they were a threat. But— but they were in so much pain. They were crying.” 

“Listen,” I said, anger creeping into my voice. “You are not responsible for their deaths. You didn’t have a choice. Uther made you do it. He made you.” 

I found the words reassuring. All of this was Uther’s fault. He was the one to blame, him and no one else. But to my surprise, Arthur had only started crying harder, face contorted as he backed away from me. 

“Don’t say that. My father is a great man. He is a great king. He does whatever he needs to keep the kingdom safe.” 

Before I could answer Arthur was gone. Only then did it occur to me that there was more than one way to close your eyes. 

***

I leave in the middle of the night to avoid getting caught. Even though it’s been years, I still remember the way to that camp. I can only hope that there are still druids there, or at least nearby. I’ll search for as long as I need to. I need answers. 

When I get to the valley and find nothing I want to collapse. Instead, I get off my horse and start to yell. 

“Hello!” 

My voice bounces uselessly off the trees, returning to me with spite and bitterness. I cal out again, desperate. I’m about to start walking until I find something, anything, when I hear a slight crunch behind me. Fear settles into my stomach. Maybe I should have thought twice about coming unarmed. 

I freeze. Then, as quickly as I can manage, I snatch a fallen branch from the ground and whirl around, ready to face the attacker. 

“I know you're there.” The words sound hollow and false. It could have been anything, really— the wind, an animal, my imagination. But then someone steps out from behind a tree. 

It’s Merlin. 

“What are you doing?” My voice is cold and filled with rage. “Did you follow me?” 

“You have to come back.” 

“No.” It comes out instinctively. I can’t go back without knowing more, without finding someone who can tell me what’s happening. 

“People know you’re gone,” he says softly. “Gwen went to check on you, and when she realized you were gone she was terrified. I was able to convince her to wait to alert anyone, but you need to get back soon.” 

“You don’t understand. This— this thing is happening to me, and I don't know what to do. I need to find someone who knows what to do. If I go back now, there will be nothing waiting for me.”

“Whatever you think is happening to you, there are people who can help. Gaius can help you. I— I can help you.” He looks at me intently, and I wonder if he really means the last thing he said. Is it true? 

“Merlin, I don’t think this is happening to me. I know it is.” I pause, noting the disbelief on his face. “But you don’t believe me. How can you not believe me?” 

“I think you’re scared. Confused. But you don’t have to be.” 

As he speaks a realization hits me: of course he thinks I’m confused. I ran into the forest in the middle of the night to search for people that could be anywhere. Of course he thinks I’m incapable. But it still makes me furious. 

“Fine. I’ll go back,” I hiss. “But I am not confused. I know exactly who I am. What I am. You’re not going to take that away.” I start walking, then turn around. “And if you ever speak to me like this again, I will make sure Uther has you hanged.” 

I mount my horse and ride away, not bothering to look behind me. 

***

A few nights later, I hear a knocking at my door. 

When I open it and see Merlin standing there I want to slam it in his face. I can’t see him right now. But before I have the chance he’s shoved his way past me. 

“Close the door,” he whispers. I know why. If he were caught doing this he would be thrown in the dungeons, maybe even hurt— if I played my cards right. I almost do it. I almost scream for the guards, if only for the satisfaction of seeing him dragged away, powerless to stop me, weak in the face of my absolute control. But I can’t. 

“Get out.” 

“Morgana, please listen to me.”

He says it like its nothing, and I’m reminded of that day so long ago when he dragged the druid boy into my chambers, the time I first heard him say my name. He said it so carefully back then. I’m not sure if I miss those days, the days when Merlin meant nothing, when he was just another castle servant. But if I’m being honest with myself, Merlin was never just another servant, even if it took me a while to realize that.

I don’t respond, just stare at him, quivering with emotion. Ready to yell, or cry, or fight him. 

He walks towards me and takes hold of my wrists; his eyes search for mine but I refuse to meet his gaze. He’s trying and I know he’s trying because he’s never touched me like this before: desperately, almost hungrily, and I can tell there’s something he wants to say, words trying to push themselves out of his mouth. Hopeful for an instant, I try one last time.

“Say it.” 

“Say what?” he replies unconvincingly. He’s so close I can practically feel the buzzing of his skin, the tension between us that threatens to overwhelm whatever fragile relationship we have. I am sick and tired of trying to build bridges on my own, knowing that they're inevitably going to collapse. 

“Say it!” I repeat, the volume of my voice rising. “Say I have magic!” 

He looks at the floor. 

I shove him away hard, biting down on my tongue to hold back a frustrated, furious scream.

I spin on my heel and storm further into the room, pretending I can walk away from him, pretending I'm not trapped. He follows me and grabs my arm. I whirl around.

“Stop acting like you care about me! I’m not stupid Merlin. If you cared—”

He presses his lips to mine, forever freezing what I was going to say against my mouth. Before I can stop myself I’m kissing him back, letting him put his hands in my hair, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. For a moment, I tell myself it's okay. I ignore that this is obviously a mistake, that I’m still mad at him, that I don’t know if I can forgive him. He pulls away. 

Before I can say anything he’s leaving and I’m watching him, all the power I thought I had only moments ago slipping through my fingers like sand. I fall to my knees, pain surging through me, the silky fabric of my gown pooling around my waist as I wish, not for the first time, that I was anywhere but here. 


	11. Guinevere

As the days crawl by I pretend that I’m a different person. A better person. A person that has control over her life, over her emotions, over her mind. But they have all betrayed me. At night I’m tormented by vivid, terrifying events that make me want to lie awake until dawn, holding myself back from the messy world of my subconscious. During the day I’m tormented by everything I’ve done: Merlin, the flaming curtain, how I almost killed Uther, how sometimes I wish I had gone through with it. 

At least if he was gone I would stop shaking every time he looks at me— I’m convinced that he can see through my eyes, past my skull, into my thoughts, where he’ll discover that I have magic. Maybe one night he’ll figure it out, and I’ll be awoken by guards bursting into my chambers to drag me to my execution. Maybe then, right before the axe falls, I’ll find peace in knowing who I really am. 

***

I decide I need to get away. 

Not forever, as tempting as that may be, but at least for a while. Even a few hours would help— once I’m separated from the castle I can breathe again, really breathe, filling my lungs with oxygen until I’m strong enough to face everything. 

I come up with a plan as I’m eating dinner with Uther, looking at him carefully across the long, wooden table. 

“I was thinking, my lord,” I say carefully, that “I would like to take a pilgrimage to my father’s grave.” 

Uther smiles, his face twisting into something resembling warmth in the glowing candlelight. It’s false, it’s all false. If he knew what I am— what I’ve done— he would never look at me like that again. 

“Of course. I’ll arrange for you to go tomorrow.” 

I let out a small sigh of relief, imagining how nice it will be to have a few moments to myself. 

“But,” Uther adds mid-chew, “You shouldn’t go alone. I’ll arrange for some knights to accompany you.” 

“That’s really not necessary.” I say it a little too quickly, and force myself to retain my composure as I feel my chance slipping away. “I mean, Gwen can accompany me.” 

Uther only laughs and I feel my heart tighten in anger. 

“Your maid can come too. But I’m not letting my ward travel through the woods without protection.” He stops eating and fixes me with a cold, warning look. I know what it means. He’s not just sending guards for my protection. He still hasn’t forgotten Ealdor. 

“I understand.” 

***

Gwen wakes me up early the next day so we can leave. As we meet the guards outside and mount our horses I watch Gwen carefully. I hope she doesn’t mind that I’m making her do this. She’s been acting strange lately, and I don’t know why. 

“Gwen, are you alright?” 

“Of course,” she responds quickly, offering me a shallow smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You’ve been very quiet lately.” She doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking determinedly ahead. I press on, trying to ignore the fact that the knights surround us and can hear everything we say. “If something is wrong, I want you to tell me.”

Gwen opens her mouth to say something, face filled with suppressed frustration, but then closes it as her eyes widen in shock. 

That’s when the first arrow comes piercing through the air, implanting itself in a guard’s neck. 

Something snaps, and everything falls apart. There are shouts, footsteps, more arrows, words I can barely register lost in a whirlwind of chaos. Knights fall from their horses, their iron covered thudding to the ground. People come rushing out of the trees. 

In the midst of everything, I catch sight of Gwen and feel a twinge of panic in my chest. Not for myself, but for her. She needs me. I need to protect her.   
“Hurry,” I call, dismounting my horse as quickly as I can and grabbing her by the arm. “We need to get out of here.” I have no idea where we can go, but we can’t stay here. Anywhere is better than here. Gwen gives me a brief nod of understanding and we start running. 

Before we can get anywhere a man on a horse thunders in front of us, cutting off her escape route. 

He smirks cruelly.

***

I first met Gwen when we were both very young. I had only been living in the castle for a few months, but Uther had been pressuring to get a maid since the beginning. 

“Royalty,” he explained, “have servants.” 

I always refused, defaulting to a series of people that cycled through the duties of attending to me. Having a maid felt too definitive, too permanent. Even though I knew it was impossible, deep down I still hoped that my new arrangement was only temporary. Every step towards making the castle my home diminished that hope slightly. Soon, it would be completely gone, and I would have nothing left to cling to. 

I was wandering through the castle— I had always been fascinated by its labyrinthine hallways, its secret passageways and hidden corners— when I heard the sound of crying coming from the kitchens, followed by a loud, mean female voice. 

“I’ll teach you to follow my instructions you little—” 

I burst through the doors, suddenly wanting desperately to stop whatever was about to occur. My entrance was met with shock. Everyone in the kitchen dropped what they were doing, suddenly curtsying. 

In front of me, a young, scrawny girl was kneeling on the floor in front of the large, commanding figure of a cook. She looked as if she was the same age as me— thirteen or fourteen. She was still a child. 

“My lady,” the cook said hurriedly. “What can I do for you?” 

I stalled, surprised that someone was talking to me like this. The other servants I had interacted with had been submissive, but the cook seemed so strong, so powerful. Why was she treating me like I was superior?

Then my gaze fell on the girl, and I felt a sudden pang of empathy. The two of us, we were the same. She was helpless, forced to cower before the cook just like I was forced to cower before Uther. We were both trapped— but at least I could help her. 

“Let her get up.” 

My voice came out proud and clear. I felt myself standing straighter, fully occupying the role of an important person. I was in charge in this scenario. I was in control. 

The girl rose to her feet and stood before me nervously. 

“What’s your name?” I asked as gently as I could. I expected her voice to shake, for her to look at the floor in my presence the way the cook had. I expected her to be scared, because then I would get to comfort her. 

I was wrong. 

As she met my gaze and started to speak her eyes were as proud as mine, her voice steady. 

“Guinevere.” I smile. “But,” she adds, returning the smile, “My friends call me Gwen.”

***

They tie our hands and drag us to their camp. As far as I know all the knights are dead, but I’m too frightened to look as we move past the area where we were ambushed. 

When we were on our way to Ealdor I had asked Gwen if she was scared. I had been terrified, caught between my desire to defend Merlin and fear of dying. I didn’t want to die. Now, she looks more scared than me. 

I still don’t want to die, but somewhere between then and now my attitude toward death changed. Dying, and the descent into darkness that came with it, would be similar to descending into my awful, uncontrollable dreams, and I did that every night. At least dying meant I wouldn’t have to deal with waking up. 

In the tent they keep us in we look at each other, unable to find words. Eventually Gwen moves away from me, pacing around the tent, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Suddenly, I’m reminded of the helpless girl that needed my protection so many years ago. She needs me. Gwen needs me. I am in control in this situation, and I cling to that control, leveraging my minimal fear to come up with a plan. 

***  
Making Guinevere my maid was surprisingly easy. Uther was so relieved that I had chosen someone he overlooked that she was as young as me, had been a scullery maid before, and didn’t really have any experience as a personal servant. 

The first few weeks were the happiest I had been since my father’s death. So Gwen wouldn’t have to go home at night, I convinced Uther to arrange for her to stay in a room connected to mine. In the evenings we huddled together on my bed, talking about our lives and the lives we wished we had. 

“I would be a princess,” Gwen whispered, refusing to meet my incredulous gaze. “And live in a castle, and be able to do whatever I want.” 

“That’s silly,” I replied dismissively, ignoring the hurt look on Gwen’s face. “You already live in a castle—”

“I don’t really live here, “ she said indignantly, cutting me off. “I live with my father. I just stay here sometimes.” I roll my eyes.

“It’s the same thing. Anyway, I’m pretty close to being a princess and I don’t get to do whatever I want, not even close. I have to do whatever Uther tells me to.” 

“You don’t have to work,” Gwen said quietly. 

“I hate him so much,” I press. I had tried to get her to admit that Uther was terrible for a while. No matter what, though, she never said anything about him. 

We kept talking until our voices slurred and our eyes started drooping. Eventually I fell asleep, sprawled out at the foot of my bed. When I woke up Gwen was gone. 

I had no idea how she did it, but somehow she always managed to return to her room before dawn. 

***

I whisper my plan into her ear, putting my arms around her so she’ll feel safe. She lets me. When I’m finished she nods, eyes gleaming with understanding and determination. 

“We’re going to be okay,” I say, happy that my voice sounds assured. “You’re going to be okay.” 

“Morgana?” 

“Yeah?”   
Gwen breathes in deeply, taking my hand and squeezing it. 

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.” 

For some unexplainable reasons, her words fill me with a strange, unfamiliar kind of guilt. Why do I feel guilty? She’s right. I have done a lot for her. But for some reason I feel compelled to say something else.

“No,” I say genuinely. “Thank you.”


	12. Slipping Away

We tear through the forest, breathing heavily.

The plan was good. I felt a sense of pride at how well the initial part went— especially considering the look on the man’s face as he doubled over. Even though my heart is thrashing and each breath is more difficult to suck into my aching lungs I keep going. We're not safe yet. Every time I want to stop I focus on the sound of Gwen running behind me. This isn’t just for me; I have to protect her too.

But then, suddenly, her pounding footsteps stop. I whirl around.

“Gwen!”

She’s kneeling on the ground, face contorted in pain.

“Go,” she calls. “You have to keep going.”

Panicking, I shake my head furiously. I can’t leave her. But the men are already approaching.

“Please,” she says, softly now. “Get help.” I turn from her to the path ahead of me, torn. It won’t do any good if they catch both of us.

“I’ll come back for you.”

And then I’m gone.

***

“We have to save her.”

I try desperately not to let desperation creep into my voice as I stare into Uther’s callous and unfeeling face. What was I thinking? How will I help Gwen now? He only shakes his head.

“She’s one person. A maid. We’ll find you another one.”

For a moment, a brief, terrifying, moment, I feel myself shift into his perspective, starting to see the situation the way he does. She’s a servant. She’s not worth anything, much less the time and effort a rescue would take.

“Please.” My voice breaks as I echo Guinevere’s plea in the forest. She begged me to save myself. To leave her behind. I was a fool— she knew there wasn’t going to be any help sent for her. She was trying to rescue me.

I can’t let her die. I can’t let her go. I’ve always protected her, from the moment we met. She needs me.

I watch Uther shake his head, nonplussed, and feel rage rising in me. I should have killed him when I had the chance. That day, the day I let Gwen’s father die, was the first time I failed her. I won’t fail her again.

Biting my lip in anger, I storm out of the room, and, without thinking, go find the first person that I know will help me.

***

Merlin comes to the door when I knock on Gaius’ chambers. When he sees me his face sharpens, and I wonder if I’m making a mistake. He clearly doesn’t want to be near me— not after what happened. Before he can say anything, I start to speak.

“This isn’t about us. Or what happened. We can pretend that nothing did, if that’s what you want. I just need your help.”

I feel myself shrinking away from my own word, ashamed that I need him. That I can’t rescue her on my own. “I need to save her,” I conclude, “because she sacrificed herself to save me.”

It comes out quickly, and when I’m finished, I stare at him pleadingly, breathless, begging him to understand.

“Morgana,” he says slowly, “Arthur and I are after her. He would never let her die.”

I step away from him in confusion. Arthur? Since when has Arthur cared about the lives of servants?

“Why?”

Merlin starts to speak, then closes his mouth, something dawning on him.

“It’s not like Arthur to give up on someone,” he says. “No matter who they are.”

“Oh.”

I struggle to restrain the cool, bitter feeling that starts to fill me. Of course, Arthur will be the one to rescue her. He always has to be the hero. I can’t let that happen. I have to be the one to save her— she is my responsibility.

“I’m coming with you.” I meet his eyes defiantly, daring him to refuse me.

“Are you sure that—”

“Yes,” I interject. “I’m absolutely sure.”

***

I meet Arthur on the steps.

“You’re not coming.” He folds his arms and stands tall, making sure I feel him towering over me. “I’m sorry, Morgana,” he adds. The glimmer of sympathy on his face does nothing to quell my anger.

“Yes, I am.” I try my best to mimic a strong posture, but looking powerful near Arthur is nearly impossible.

“This is dangerous, I don’t think you understand. This is no place for a—” He trails off, sheepishly letting his eyes drift to the floor.

“For a what?”

His embarrassment reminds me of when we were children, of when he decided that he was always going to be better and braver than me. My eyes shift over to Merlin, who stands beside him, silently begging him to say something, anything, to help my case. He becomes very interested in putting his saddle on the horse.

“Look,” Arthur begins, placing a hand on my shoulder. I immediately recoil from him. “You’ll hold us back. My father won’t let you go anywhere without guards, and if he discovers you missing he’ll come for us. He’ll keep us from rescuing her.”

I hate that he’s right. Without responding, I walk back into the castle. I’ve just gotten inside when I hear a flutter of footsteps of behind me, and turn around to see Merlin approaching.

“What do you want?” I hiss, ignoring the pounding of my heart.

“I know you’re upset.” I roll my eyes, exasperated. Why won’t he leave me alone? “But it’s probably for the best.”

“Really? You really think that?”

“She means a lot to Arthur,” he says softly.

Then, it hits me. I’ve never felt so clueless in my life.

“To all of us,” he quickly adds, seeing the realization dawning on me. It’s too late. “She was the first friend I made here. We— I— would never let anything happen to her.”

My thoughts spin frantically through my head. How could I have been so blind? I knew Gwen better than anyone.

“She was my friend first.” I don’t realize how pathetic it sounds until the words have already left my mouth. For a moment there’s only silence, and I watch as Merlin’s expression morphs into something I know all too well: pity. I hate him for it.

“I think you need to ask yourself why you really want to save her so badly.”

He leaves me standing alone in the hall, unable to move. I realize that I may have left Gwen behind in the forest but really, she left me a long time ago.

***

_I’m standing in the throne room, shadows spilling onto the cold floor. Gwen kneels at my feet, hair tangled, eyes blank._

_“Look at me.” My voice is icy and cruel. I barely recognize it. She lifts her head and fixes me with a piercing stare. A flash of fear passes through me, because somehow, for an instant, she makes me feel weak. I turn it into anger, and order for her to be dragged away. The sight of her, helpless as she’s forced to her feet, is vindicating._

As I open my eyes the sound of shattering glass startles me. A vase lies, annihilated, on the floor, moonlight reflecting off the broken glass.

Shuddering, I wait for Gwen to come, only to remember that she isn't here. She’s gone. I need her, and she can’t help me.

I expect a guard or a servant, but to my surprise, Uther himself comes bursting through the door.

“Are you alright?” Genuine fear shines in his eyes. “Did something happen?” I take a moment to gather myself, then speak.

“Yes, of course. I accidentally left the window open. The wind knocked the vase over.” His gaze flits, confused, over to the closed window. “I just went to close it,” I add hastily.

I wait for him to figure it out. For him to accuse me, to call for the guards and have them drag me away the way I ordered Guinevere to be in my dream. Why would I ever do that to her? The answer scares me, but the threat of Uther finding out about my magic scares me even more. I’ve never felt so alone.

He walks over and sits at the edge of my bed. To my horror, he takes my face in his hands and looks at me intensely.

“You have to be careful, Morgana. I’m glad you’re okay.”

I don’t respond, hatred curdling in my chest. He thinks he cares about me. He’ll never understand what it's like to be on your own, to be locked in the prison of your mind. He is the one who makes me feel like this— him and all the people who refuse to help me. Now, even Guinevere is lost to me forever.

Agonizingly, I force myself to nod and smile. When he’s gone I curl into a ball and cry silently, praying for dreamless sleep.

***

I watch from the window as they return: Merlin ahead, Arthur and Guinevere riding next to each other through the gates. My stomach clenches. I keep watching the gates long after they’re out of sight, replaying the scene over and over until someone touching my arm pulls me out of my thoughts.

It’s Gwen. Briefly, I forget everything— her and Arthur together, how she didn’t tell me, how she made me feel in my dream— and throw my arms around her. She hugs me back tightly.  
Then, she pulls away and I see her smiling. It all comes rushing back. I force myself to return her smile and try to hold back the resentment that surges through me. I’m not the one who saved her— Arthur is. She doesn’t need me, not the way she did before.

After she leaves and I’m alone, Merlin walks up to me slowly. He reaches to take my hand, but I push him away, refusing to meet his eyes.

“She’s here,” he says pleadingly. “She’s safe. We brought her back to you.”

I look at him. He looks hurt, and for an instant I feel guilty. But then I remember what he did to me, what he’s doing to me. How he let Arthur take Gwen from me forever.

“No,” I respond icily. “You didn’t.”


End file.
